Dream of Me: Conclusion
by Masamune's Song
Summary: Alternate Ending to Lady Sanzennine's Dream of Me. What begins as a simple abduction, rapidly becomes something more. Through death comes life, through loss comes gain, through humility comes power- and love. Rated for language, adult situations, etc.
1. Prologue

Note to Lady Sanzennine: Thanks again for letting me finish this. It's a great world, and I can't tell you how much fun I've had.

**Important Note to All**: It has come to my attention that Lady Sanzennine does not intend to finish her Aeriseph fic "Dream of Me" at any time in the near future. She's moved on. I haven't. So I've borrowed her world, since she wasn't using it.

I guess that would make this-a fanfic of a fanfic? Unfortunately, that makes this story doubly "not mine." Inasmuch to say: all characters, place-names, etc. belong to SquareSoft. (Don't hurt me big, scary corporation, with big, scary corporate lawyers.) And everything that doesn't belong to Square, belongs to Lady Sanzeninne. And her affiliates.

The complete first seven chapters are here: http :// eternally . reignblood . com / fanfiction / dream . htm

Otherwise, here's the synopsis:

* * *

In an alternate FFVII universe, Sephiroth heads a military coup and overthrows Shinra, becoming "Lord Sephiroth." His rule improves many people's lives physically, and he puts an end to the use of Lifestream energy. However, he maintains tight military control of all aspects of life, turning Midgar into a police state, and his people live in fear of him. A resistance movement is growing in strength and popularity. 

Years prior to his acension, he and Aeris share a single kiss on the cold, monster-infested plains outside Midgar. The kiss haunts her, and Aeris dreams of him almost nightly.

It haunts Sephiroth, too. The memory of those few minutes makes him increasingly restless, although he does not know if he wants to posess Aeris— or destroy her. Impulsively, he offers a two-million gil reward for her arrest. But when this fails to produce results quickly enough, he hunts the streets for her himself, capturing her in a darkened alley. He returns to his newly-constructed palace/center of operations and installs her in an opulent room adjacent to his own—and also neighboring a blonde, buxom woman named Sandria—his latest mistress.

Now that he has Aeris, however, Sephiroth seems uncertain what to do with her. He nearly makes love to her, and she responds ardently to his attentions, despite being furious with her kidnapper. Sephiroth then informs her that she is to be a servant in his household, and sets her to scrubbing floors.

Two resistance fighters, Lyssa and Jonathan, approach Aeris with pictures of massacres committed by Sephiroth's army, showing Aeris the cruelty that he is capable of. They ask for her help in spying on Sephiroth, but she defers answering them to a later date.

Chapter Seven ends with Aeris waiting at table on Sephiroth and his mistress. Sandria, who rightly perceives Aeris as a threat, trips her, making her drop the dinner tray. Then, as Aeris stoops to clean up, she looks up to see Sephiroth towering over her– and remembers. In another plane, another reality, perhaps in many mirror-realities, Sephiroth is nothing more than a killer—her killer.

* * *

An ancient altar. 

Still, dark water.

Aeris knelt in a pillar of light—dust motes rising and falling like smoke, like incense, above her.

_Oh, Planet, help us now! You're the only one who can!_

Her eyes were closed in prayer, lips silently beseeching—and she should have been too absorbed in the task of calling on Planet to notice his coming. Still, even with her eyes closed, she felt his presence, like a cold shadow falling between her and the Planet.

And then—_zplisch_!—and pain . . . pain fiercer and fierier than any she had ever known.

Her eyes flew open, and she gave a kind of gasping gurgle as her vision confirmed what instinct first had whispered.

_Sephiroth!_

He stood behind her, so she could not see him, but she recognized the thin, slow curve of the blade, half of which now protruded from her chest.

A small, detached thought came to her: _Now there's an angle of Masamune no one likes to see._

The blade sank deeper yet, and instinct took over— she grabbed at the sword erupting from between her ribs, in too much pain to notice how deeply she sliced her hands on the razor edge.

Her torso was a single, wracking explosion—so she tried to focus on her lower body, which was strangely numb and tingly.

_Of course. He struck me straight through the center. My spine is broken._

… _I am going to die._

She felt no urge to scream, nor to beg. She only crumpled, collapsing like a marionette with its strings cut.

The edges of her vision blurred, and, for a moment—she forgot her prayer to the planet… forgot the need for Holy… as death approached, it was not her mind that called, but her heart.

_Planet, help him! Help him find peace!_

Darkness…

Light…


	2. Fear

His white, straight eyebrows drew together in a speculative scowl, creasing the cool mask of his features.

_Something's frightened her._

He intended a different shade of fear for her—a tense, hovering trepidation that made people so easy to control. The fear of losing work, the fear of imprisonment, or simply the fear of his displeasure—these could be powerful motivators if used correctly.

But this . . .

He studied the woman cowering at his feet. One hand was flung in front of her face—as if to ward off a blow, and the other clutched tightly at the fabric of her blouse—staining the white fabric red from the sauce on her fingers. She was shaking.

He had seen the expression on her face many times before and it meant only one thing—the basic, primal fear of one who fears for her life, who believes that death is in front of her.

_This is less-than useful_, an inner voice, which sounded suspiciously like Hojo's, informed him.

This sort of fear he only liked to use in extreme circumstances, and only inflicted on those he particularly hated—or at least, were particularly in his way. His favored weapon was a dull, tense anxiety that had fewer of the mind-paralyzing effects of abject terror. A fearful subject would be disinclined to rebel, but a terrified subject was useless for mentally-intensive tasks.

"What is it?" His words were clipped but soft, almost gentle, almost contemptuous.

Her eyes refocused on him as she returned from wherever she had just been– and her wide eyes met his.

_Gods—those eyes. Greener than sunlight through summer leaves._

With a small cry, she flung herself backward, away from him, dishes clattering as she threw herself back into an awkward crabwalk, made more awkward because she still gripped the front of her shirt—the way dying men grip their entrails.

She struggled backward, then abruptly flung herself around, staggering to her feet. She would have broken into a run, but Sephiroth was beside her in two steps, snaking his arm around her and clamping her lithe, quivering body against his.

"No!" she cried out, "No! Let me go! Please! Please, let me go!"

Most of the women would have resorted to clawing at this point, but Aeris, apparently, did not know how to use fingernails for that purpose. And it _must _be ignorance on her part, because this was no coquette's game. The fear in her voice and face were real… if she knew of any defense available to her, she would have used it.

A sound cut through Aeris' cries.

Laughter.

If it could be called laughter. It was more like a shrill shriek of derision.

With some irritation, he glanced down the length of the table to where his mistress sat. He did not miss the malicious triumph in her eyes as she looked at Aeris, particularly when Aeris dissolved into tears at the sound of Sandria's laughter.

"Really! M'lord Sephiroth, this is too much! Is she part of some little game you have for me? I must confess I don't understand at all! A half-wit girl? For a _handmaiden_?" Sandria dabbed away an imaginary tear.

Sephiroth saw Aeris in the silver reflection of the platter. Her eyes were shut now, leaking tears of fright, and she clutched feebly at the arm that held her pinned. She was still shaking like a leaf in a storm.

"Sandria," he said, "Clean this up."

Sandria's red mouth fell open.

Sephiroth did not release Aeris, but he slid his hands to her shoulders, and, turning her, began to gently walk her down the length of the table to his chair.

"Hush now, pretty flower girl," he whispered in her ear. "You don't need to fear my anger over a few broken dishes."

This was not the issue and he knew it. He had seen Sandria trip her, had seen the righteous anger blazing in her emerald eyes. Then his shadow fell across her—and she cowered—why?

The particularly odd part was he had seen all of these symptoms before, many times, in shell-shocked men. The unreasonable terror, the rigidity, the grasping at invisible wounds. Good soldiers who—for whatever reason—snapped and relived the nightmare of battle again and again.

A sputtering noise sounded from behind him. Sandria had forgotten her manners. "You—you can't be serious!"

In answer, Sephiroth picked up a plate which had, by some miracle, landed on the table—and flung it to the floor. A crash. Slivers of china skittered across the polished wood. He did not look at her, but added, "And when you leave—shut the door."

Then carefully, gingerly, he lowered Aeris into his own chair.


	3. Wine

"Have some wine," he was saying, "You look shaken."

Aeris tried to still the trembling in her limbs. She could not look at him, dared not.

The pain. She could still feel it with more clarity than anything around her. She still shivered from the absolute coldness in his eyes. Mako-green cat's eyes watching her die.

He pressed a glass-filled unfashionably high-into her trembling hands.

Abruptly he jerked his head back toward Sandria and barked, "I said clean it up!" Aeris flinched more than Sandria did and wine sloshed in its crystal glass.

The blonde woman went white, then red. When she was this angry, some of her beauty slipped, because her skin went splotchy and her blue eyes clouded.

"Of course, my lord, I simply did not understand-"

Sephiroth snapped his fingers at her.

Aeris watched the other woman rise and, gracefully, kneel down, making the act of gathering scattered china as provocative as possible. She was deliberately showing off her curves, stretching the silky fabric of her dress to reveal as much thigh as possible, and her position on her knees made her highly-visible cleavage even more visible.

Sephiroth wasn't watching.

He was staying close to Aeris, leaning against the table in front of her.

An unnecessarily loud "thud!" of a closing door announced Sandria's departure.

Aeris had already finished the glass.

"More?" He seemed amused.

Aeris flushed, particularly when she saw that the bottle of wine he'd poured had to be twice as old as she was.

She hadn't even tasted it, only been aware of its warmth spreading down her chest, bringing life back to her limbs.

She shook her head as he plucked the wineglass from her fingers. Somehow, she felt naked without it, and her hands went immediately to her apron, where she tried to get some of the drying dinner-sauces off her hands.

_How rediculous I must look to him! _But she managed to whisper, "Thank you."

He leaned over and dampened a linen napkin in the carafe of water beside him. When Aeris risked a glance up at him, she could not help but note the lean, aristocratic build, and the fluid, leonine grace to all his movements. He reached out then, and gently but insistently, took one of her hands and began sponging it with the damp cloth.

She was acutely conscious of the blister that had developed as she scrubbed the floors. And there was no question of his not noticing, because he worked with painstaking slowness over every part of her hands.

Was it only the cold water that made her shiver?

The silence stretched on, heavy with suggestion, until he turned his cat's eyes on her without pausing in his ministrations.

"Now then," he said, "What frightened you?"


	4. Meetings

Fear became her.

It widened her green eyes, turning them to starlight and emeralds, and she trembled like spring grass.

But something-some emotion he did not know how to name-kept him from truly enjoying the sight of her like this. It had to do with the connection he sensed between them- a deep, soul-alignment that made physical touch both unnecessary and inescapable.

For an odd moment, he had wanted to be like the wine-warming her, smoothing away the rigidity of fear.

This kind of stirring was foreign to him. Particularly since he was accutomed to displays of fear. From his women, they were usually false-hoping to coerce him with doe-eyed trepidation. From those less "close" to him, the fear was real-but also well-warranted.

Another soul's fear almost never played upon his emotions. This was unfamiliar ground, and the soldier in him was wary of a trap.

Why could he not simply enjoy the way her sun-bronzed cheeks paled slightly, the way her ragged breathing suggested other sensations?

If Sandria had been half so lovely when she was afraid, he would have kept her frightened indefinately.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The two women could not be more opposite.

He had met Sandria at a ball after tiring of a black-eyed beauty with a jewlery fetish. Presumably it was a ball, but every eligible girl, and few not-strictly eligible ones, were busy displaying themselves to greatest advantage before him. After a half-hour of stuffy air and sickly-sweet perfume, he had pointed and said to Reno and Rude, "That one," then retired for the evening.

They had brought the wrong woman. Sephiroth had actually been pointing to a blue-eyed, auburn-haired girl nearby, but he had not bothered to correct the mistake.

But Aeris . . .

Instead of a stuffy, opulent room-barren rock and chill winds. Aeris had approached him during one of his moody spells. One of the days when those who valued their necks avoided him. He had noted her approach without showing he was noted it-listening to the soft sand crunching under her feet. She had come offering- what? A flower? Talk of being the last Cetra?

_Understanding. _

That was five years ago, and had he not found her himself, he would have paid the two-million gil reward without a second thought, and considered the money well-spent. For her he had stalked through vacant alleys, passing sewers boiling with foul-smelling steam, through black city darkness and pools of artificial light. Always, always, feeling her presence just ahead, maddening in her nearness.

He was hunting her still.

A hunt-or a dance.

In her slight form he sensed a vast power, and he was grappling with her for that power- either to absorb it, or destroy it. When she was here, close to him like this, he could sense it-vibrant and stirring, as if the silver strands of the Lifestream itself were being strummed, and he could almost, _almost_ hear their melody.

As he listened for the silent song emanating from her, the alien emotion-the one he could not name- grew stronger.

He wanted to reach out to her. Feel her curl into him, melting against him, clinging to him just as she had when he had sped through the sky with her-quickening his flight deliberately so that her small hands would clutch at him for safety and warmth. But this time he wanted her to soften for him, wanted her to nestle, reassured, against his chest.

What _was_ this feeling?

Could it be-pity?

_You stupid, pathetic bastard_. The inner voice was sneering, distinctly Hojo's now. _Look at you-falling for every cheap whore trick she tosses you. Can't you see she's using you? Waaa! I'm the last Cetra! I'm a poor, helpless female, rescue me! And you-you eat it up like the besotted fool you are. Kill her! Kill her now! Kill her you stupid, goddamn ignorant _fuck!

* * *

No emotion played on his face, only shadows from the fire in the grate flickered over his features. 


	5. Desire

No emotion played on his face, only the shadows from the fire in the grate flickered over his features.

Aeris felt her breathing steady a little. She was still embarrassed, which was his fault. She would feel less shabby if she wasn't dressed in a maid's costume, if he wasn't so clearly at an advantage.

_Planet! Oh, Planet, help me! I'm alone in a room with him-my killer!_

_Hush, child. You share a destiny. Not a fate. You may be bound together, but the nature of that binding is your choice and his._

_But he's dangerous! Oh, Planet, get me out of here!_

"Well?" his voice was soft, sinuous. "What was it that frightened you so badly?"

She shook her head, dropping her gaze. "It was nothing."

He picked up her other hand and began attending to it. "Ahh," he murmured, "So my little flower girl is a liar."

She wanted to retort, but it _had _been a lie. She faltered.

_Should I really try to explain? How can I?_

She could hardly think with him leaning toward her like this, how could she hope to try to explain a feeling that was hers and the Planet's alone?

She risked looking into his mako-green eyes, which were still on her-watching her. Waiting.

She swallowed. "I can . . . hear the planet. And sometimes I can see the Lifestream. See, the Lifestream doesn't only connect the living with the dead and back again, but it also connects other, mirror-images of the planet. Turns of the Cycle, I call them. They are other paths that I, or those around me, could have walked . . . I was afraid- because I saw one just now where you- murdered me. And I felt like that world was the real world, and this world was just a vision-I could feel it all. Masamune-cut through my heart, I think."

_You see, Sephiroth? I dream of you even while I'm awake._

He had paused in his cleaning and listened, intently. She searched his face for any sign of mockery or derision, but there was none. He only nodded, looking like he believed her completely-like it never occurred to him to doubt her. Even if he _had _just called her a liar.

"Ah… that explains it," he said softly, as if she had answered something he had long been wondering about her. "But I am not _that _Sephiroth, correct?"

"No," she flushed again, although she wasn't really sure why. "It's just-it hurt so much-"

"I'm not hurting you now."

He slid off the table and leaned closer to her, raising her fingers to his mouth. Slowly, langorously, his sensuous lips parted and he slid one of her fingers into his mouth, like a cat licking her clean. Icy fire shot through her veins and she shivered more violently than ever. Part of her wanted to jerk her hand away, but she knew it was impossible-and not merely because his grip was stronger. She could only watch, breathless, as he tasted the next finger, then the next. She could not even tear her gaze away from the sight of him standing before her, eyes closed, drawing each of her fingers between his lips.

Then he straightened, and he pulled her up after him. Holding her by the wrists, he moved one of her arms around him, pressing her hand to his side, as if they were about to dance together.

She did not try to move away, although it left mere inches between them and the heat from his body was filling her senses, making her giddy and pliant.

He took her remaining hand and raised it to his mouth again, kissing her palm, her wrist, making her skin burn wherever his lips touched.

Then he lowered that hand, too, to his waist, so she was holding him in a loose embrace.

Strong hands slid down her sides, coming to rest on the apron strings-which zipped open, letting the white fabric flutter to the floor between them.

Her throat went dry.


	6. Enticing

Author's Note:  
**For those of you trying to avoid the randy scenes**, as you can probably guess, you should **skip ahead to the next chap**.

* * *

_This can't be right. He's capable of killing me. Any vision that vivid can't be from a Cycle too far away. He's capable of killing thousands, even here in this universe. Why should I be any different?_

"I should go," she managed, but her voice quavered.

His hands moved up her ribs. "You forget where you are," he whispered, "I decide what you should and should not do."

One arm slipped behind her, and began to pull her inexorably toward him. Their bodies met, and she sucked in her breath, but still he pressed her tight, tighter. His other hand went to her hair-taking out the silver clip that held it up, then raking his fingers through it, massaging her scalp.

Everything about him was this way-harsh and gentle at once. One hand taut around her, the other caressing her hair. The soft, inviting curve of his mouth-the green ice of his eyes.

The hand buried in her hair cupped the back of her head and tilted her face back. Above her, mako-green eyes blazed. Then his lips covered hers-slowly, deliberately. A shudder began in the pit of her belly and spread outward, leaving a wake of warmth and weakness. Her knees went unsteady and she leaned into him more heavily.

His lips moved to her ear. "I'm afraid there will be no escape for you tonight, little flower girl."

_Oh, gods… he's right. I never could. I never will be able to._

He began to kiss her neck, softly, lightly. It felt like little embers dropping on her skin, or like a string of icicles pricking her, making her pulse hammer and her breath come sharp, ragged gasps.

He was untucking her blouse from the confines of the black skirt, and his warm hands slid up her back, chilling her.

He froze.

Aeris opened passion dilated eyes, coming a little out of the trance he'd woven over her. As soon as her eyes met his, saw the surprise in them- and she knew what he had found. A blush darkened her cheeks, but she had no time for any other reaction, because Sephiroth seized the collar of her blouse and ripped it-scattering faux pearl buttons.

For a moment, only a moment, his control slipped and he sucked in his breath, staring down at her half-naked body.

He was looking at the scant, silky scrap of fabric that covered her breasts.

Aeris' blush deepened, but another part of her thrilled at his startled admiration.

The bra was actually one of the more conservative of the "clothes" given her this morning by the household staff. Still, it was the single most scandalous piece of clothing she had ever put on, and she had only done so out of dire necessity.

Since she had not expected to be kidnapped yesterday morning-was it really only yesterday morning?- she had not thought to pack any extra underclothes. So she had no clean bras after the night before, and no panties at all after Sephiroth cut away her underwear. _Her _underwear was conservative, laceless, concealing-and cheap.

Now she stood before him wearing a white strip of lacy silk that both supported and accentuated her pert breasts-but which barely covered her nipples. Instinctively, she started to cover herself but he pushed her hands away.

"Now, now," His cool voice had darkened a shade. "None of that."

She let her hands drop to her sides, but she burned under the mako-green gaze, transfixed on her sloping breasts.

He did not touch her skin, but reached behind her and deftly undid her skirt, letting it slide in gentle folds down her legs, pooling at her feet. The white panties matched the top, tying on the side, white and silky-the color of his hair. The cleft of her womanhood began to throb. With the barest touch to her shoulders, he turned her around before him, moving her in a slow circle, watching the firelight play across her goose-pimpling skin.

_Oh, gods! He's doing it again!_

Leaving her naked, without a stich covering her… while he himself stayed clothed.

Would he stop again-as he had this morning- leaving her whole soul shaking and her body pulsing with desperate need?

With one, swift motion, Sephiroth swept the remaining dishes of his placesetting to the floor. The fifty-year old wine, the china crystal, met hardwood floors with a smash.

Then he reached for her.

One arm went around her back, so all she could feel was the smoothe, finely-tailored fabric of his uniform. His mouth covered hers, and her lips parted, inviting his tongue to slide into her. Without breaking the kiss, his other hand slid under her buttocks and lifted her easily to the table.

He bent over her, still locked in a deep, open-mouthed, kiss- gently plundering her. She lay beneath him, feeling the hard, cold surface of the table beneath her, and the hard, warm surface of his body above her.

He pulled away only to turn his attention to the ivory swells of her breasts, teasing her with kisses along the edge of the bra. Then, carefully, he undid the clasp and the light kisses that grew hotter and more passionate until he drew the tightened amber peaks into his mouth. He was kissing his way down her body now, pressing his face against the swells of her breasts, against the yeilding softness of her belly.

Lower.

_No! He wouldn't! He _couldn't!

Aeris' eyes flew open and she tried to sit up, gasping. Then his lips and tongue were touching her through the silky cloth, and she lost her balance. Her body jerked spasmodically as heat seared through her. She wanted him to stop. She needed him to continue. But she might have fallen, might have _died_, and would not have noticed.

Her breath came in trembling gasps, and she whimpered. She could not see his face, but she _felt _him smile, his cheeks curving against her thighs.

Then he pulled away.

Aeris lay panting on the table, the room still spinning around her.

"You are proving quite problematic, little flower girl." Sephiroth's voice came from one of the tall, bay windows. "When you finish with your duties here, you will find me in my chambers. I have other tasks for you tonight." He flung open the window and leapt easily into the night, Masamune reflecting back a flash of firelight as he vanished.

Aeris stuffed her shirt in her mouth and screamed.

Ohhh! She would kill him! She would _kill _him!

If she didn't die of shame first.

* * *

Author's Note: 

He-he. Gotchya.

Did anyone like it? I've never written anything like that before. And, just so you know, I'll probably whack this off once I go back through to edit for content.


	7. Sandria

Author's Note:  
Thank you again for the wonderful reviews! You have greatly inspired me to get past my writer's block.  
I will now proceed to disappoint you all by inserting a chapter from a different POV. However, some events later in the story won't make as much sense without this chapter.

* * *

Chapter Fourteen: Sandria 

_ So _that's _the competition, is it?_

Sandria bit her lip in fury as her high-heels rang out on the flagstone.

She had not expected Lord Sephiroth to appreciate the "reluctant virgin" approach. He tended to be somewhat less-than chivalrous in his designs on women, and he was both hard to satisfy and impatient with ploys.

What was this graceless, shabby _wench _that he should suddenly change his tactics now?

The women who tried elaborate games with him were the first to go. Sephiroth was not a man who thrilled in the chase, and he could and did tire of women without ever actually bedding them.

That was part of why Sandria had lasted as long as she had. They had a mutual understanding--she would be, at least in his presence, pleasant and even-tempered and _always _willing. She didn't have to fake much, though, because pillow-talk praise and false moans of ecstasy annoyed him. Indeed, _she _annoyed him, whenever she opened her mouth.

Of course, she hated _him_, too--as a man. But as a status symbol--he was priceless. The way they fawned over her at the market! Jewelry and finely-crafted wares were all hers for free--with the understanding that she would find a prominent place for them in her bedchamber. Men, who had always looked at her appreciatively, now held her in awe.

_ I had him. I HAD him. Then this snake-eyed, flat-chested SLUT had to come along!_

And, she had to admit to herself, her position was precarious now. She had never in her _life _been reduced to bussing dishes.

_ I've slept with stupid men, ugly men, ancient men-- to AVOID dishes! What am I, a chambermaid? Will he have me scrubbing toilets next?_

Sandria had never actually _been_ to the kitchen before.

She had almost gone, once or twice, when she considered taking a clandestine lover or two from among the household staff. But, until tonight, she had been the most powerful woman alive--and a little satisfaction in bed was not enough to risk that.

Sephiroth was a miserable lover. He never spoke to her while screwing her, never undressed, did not even pretend she was anything but a hot place between two legs to him. Once he had stopped in the middle of lovemaking to answer three different calls about routine troop movement. During times like that she would sit, smiling beatifically and grind her teeth.

With a toss of her head, Sandria swept into the kitchen.

The clamor of conversation, scrubbing, and pots rattling--all died away. Every eye stared at her as she made her way in with the tray. She dumped the dishes, broken plates and all, into the sink where a man with his sleeves rolled up stood gawking at her.

"I just thought I'd help out," she said brightly, flashing a sugar smile at the sweaty faces around her.

_ They'll see. They'll all see. Sephiroth will tire of her. And if he doesn't--well, there are other ways of getting rid of her._

With another brittle smile, she swept out of the kitchen.

A din of voices started up as the door swung shut behind her--and she caught the head cook's voice clamoring for order.

_ That whore will _pay.

* * *

Aeris snuck from shadow to shadow.

_ Just a little farther._

Some hubbub toward the kitchen had drawn a number of the household staff, so she managed to make it most of the way to her room unnoticed.

The design of the house was terrible for sneaking. Important, highly-frequented rooms stood next to scarce-used servants quarters, seeming to follow no pattern except that virtually all of them had a huge, curtainless bay window.

A sudden thought flashed into her mind. _The windows open from the outside. It's designed for someone who can fly._

The awkward distances she had to cross to get to her own wing would be only a short leap across a courtyard for Sephiroth, or maybe two hops from hand-railing to hand-railing.

_ Maybe it's _supposed _to be hard to sneak through . . . A suspicious someone who can fly._

She had redressed herself as best she could, but a number of her blouse's buttons were simply missing, and the apron did not quite cover the fact that her shirt wasn't closed. Going to finish up in the kitchen after--after what happened-- was unthinkable. The thought of everyone looking at her--seeing her tousled hair and torn shirt was more than she could stand.

_ That's probably how they knew what size bra I wear_, she thought, _from the last time Sephiroth paraded me around this place without a shirt._

Was it possible to vomit from sheer humiliation?

She would just get to her room, crawl into bed, shiver and hide-- until Sephiroth called for her.

_ Then what?_

She found herself tiptoeing the last few yards. His room was at the end of the hall, and her bedroom just to the right. Was he already in bed? What would she do if he flung open the door and--?

She grasped the handle of her bedroom door, and the heavy oak slid inward soundlessly.

But it wasn't her room anymore.


	8. Marla

Author's Note:  
Woohoo! 1000+ hits! (Yes, I _am_ that freakishly obsessive about my stats. I am also a review whore.) _Thank you _so much to everyone who's taking this journey with me through my dark, twisted Aeriseph. You make me feel special. I'm so excited I'll post another chapter!

* * *

White dustsheets hung over all the furniture. The bed was stripped, the mattress gone. Even some of the paintings on the wall had disappeared.

Aeris blinked.

Had she walked into Sandria's room by mistake?

No. Sandria was still prowling around here somewhere, and Sephiroth hadn't said anything about getting rid of her.

Or--had he moved Aeris to servant's quarters?

That seemed more likely. One of the servants had told her that it would be "weird" certainly, if Sephiroth had her work as a maid during the daytime and sleep in the lavish suite next to his.

That still left the question, though, of what part of this sprawling, opulent compound was "hers."

"_There _you are!" a voice sounded from behind her.

Aeris whirled around.

"Quiet! He'll hear you!" she hissed. The words were out before she had a chance to think.

She saw the maid, Marla, appraising her--taking in the disarray of Aeris' shirt and missing hair brooch.

_ Oh, I'll just _die _if she winks!_

But Marla only smiled, kindly, and held out a stack of linen garments. "I brought these for you," she said. "I think they suit you a little better than the clothes we brought this morning."

Aeris breathed a little easier as Marla entered the room and closed the oak door behind her.

"I'll just change you in here, then."

"Change me?"

"For tonight, dear," she said, "Didn't he tell you?" She was already unfolding several pre-warmed nightgowns and draping them over dust-clothed chairs.

_ You will find me in my chambers. I have other duties for you tonight._

"Tell me what?"

Marla looked up at her with a combination of pity and incredulous amazement. The amazement Aeris recognized from her days in the slums: people looked at her like that when they were bewildered by her naivete.

Aeris flushed a little.

_ I guess that's my answer._

Marla looked away quickly, saying, "Well, come on, dear, pick one you like."

"Look, I really don't think--"

"How about this one?"

The nightdresses were, in fact, a distinct improvement over the 'clothes' she'd brought earlier in the day. The one Marla held buttoned up to the neck with little silk roses for buttons, and had long lace sleeves. Simple. Clean.

Opaque.

A definite step in the right direction.

Marla seemed to take her silence for acquiescence, and advanced on her. Aeris opened her mouth to protest, but she _did _need to wear something else. Anything else.

"Hey, I can--" She tried to get Marla to let her change herself, blushing again at the thought of Marla _knowing _about Sephiroth's attentions. But Marla took the torn garments in a manner as brusque and businesslike as any hospital nurse and slipped the new gown over Aeris' head.

"You're just perfect for him, you know," she said, lacing the nightdress behind Aeris, "Everyone thinks so."

"_What_?"

"Oh yes. So fresh and . . . _real_. He needs that. Not these glitzy shams who--nevermind that." She took a step back, admiring her handiwork. "You look just lovely, dear."

"Thank you, Marla, can you show me my new room now?"

Marla frowned. "So… you really don't know?"

"Know what?" Aeris felt suddenly cold, despite the soft, warm fabric of the nightdress.

"Lord Sephiroth has requested that you spend the night in _his_ room."

Aeris blinked.

Of course, she had known this. And yet, hearing it out loud . . .

_ Spend the night._

"In _his _room?" she echoed.

Marla had her by the hand and was guiding her to the door. Aeris froze.

"Yes, dear, now come on. He hates being kept waiting." She tugged harder on Aeris' hand and Aeris felt her feet follow. The words "like a lamb to slaughter" echoed in her mind.

_ Should I run? How far would I get? Where could I go?_

But outside Sephiroth's door, Marla paused, hesitating before knocking. Suddenly, she turned to Aeris and whispered, "I don't know if it's a good idea to be telling you this or not--but no one's ever shared a room with him before. Not even Lady Juna, and she was here the longest. Lord Sephiroth does not like to have anyone watch him sleep."

She knocked.

"Come!" A low voice sounded through the door.

Marla squeezed Aeris' hand. "Good luck," she murmured.

Aeris swallowed.

* * *

Author's Note:  
Yes, I know that Aeris' maid was supposed to be "Jamie," not "Marla." But I liked the Marla character better, so I combined them.  
Oh, and um, apologies to everyone who thinks cliffhangers are evil. 


	9. Moonlight

The room was dim after the lights of the hallway--and cold.

_Why does he keep it so cold?_

"Ah," Sephiroth's voice came from the direction of a bed--a bed smaller than Aeris had expected-- solid but a bit narrow, reminiscent of a military cot. "There you are."

Behind her, the door clicked shut.

_Alone._

She stiffened and resisted the urge to step back. Even in the semi-darkness, she could see his features, lit by the two green flames that were his eyes.

He was sitting upright in bed, paring a fruit with a gilt knife. When he looked down at what he was doing, the light from his eyes winked out.

_He hasn't eaten dinner, after all, _Aeris thought, and flushed for what had to be the hundredth time that day.

"There's bread and cheese on the sideboard if you're hungry." He indicated a marble countertop with his knife. "And a thermostat to your right if you're cold . . . Your bed-- is there."

Aeris frowned.

My _bed?_

_I have a _bed?

The tip of his knife pointed toward a low cot, one that looked even more martial than the one Sephiroth sat in now. One that looked a little like an undecorated version of the one she'd left at home.

"Unless…" he added, "You care to join me?"

Aeris set her jaw and shook her head, ignoring the amused challenge in his eyes.

He half-smiled at her. "Give it time." His voice was low, insidious--colder than the room around her.

But that night, Aeris learned why he let no one near him as he slept. Sephiroth, Lord of Midgar, Hero of the Wutai Wars, General of Shinra's armies--struggled to fall asleep.

* * *

She might not have noticed if Marla hadn't alerted her to Sephiroth's desire for isolation when he slept. She might have put his restlessness down to the crackling sexual tension between them--which was giving her her own case of insomnia. But she knew, partly by instinct and partly by observation, that his sleeplessness had little to do with her presence.

He had the wearily patient air of a man who went through several hour-long rituals in hope of rest. She noticed little things: the ceremonious way he set about arranging the bed, making sure each item in the room was in place (including herself), checking Masamune for accessibility and cleanliness, then, when he lay down, the even measure of his breathing--as if he were counting. All signs of an elaborate effort to relax.

An hour crept by--or more--the angle of the moonlight the only change in the room. She could see him, out of the corner of her eye, his glowing gaze fixed on the ceiling.

Did he think she was asleep?

How could she hope to sleep when he was there--just a few feet away? Pressing on her consciousness with a sweet agony like an uncompleted kiss.

Why didn't he force her to sleep with him? No one would stop him.

Not even her.

She could still taste his kisses-- wine and fire, still smell his skin, still feel the fine fabric of his jacket beneath her fingers.

_Traitor_, Aeris told her body.

_Does he feel the same way? What _is_ he thinking? What is he _doing?

Was he trying to tame her by inches, easing her into his presence?

If that was his intention, it wasn't working. It felt more like gradual suffocation.

With a frustrated sigh, she gave up.

Rolling over, she looked at him and whispered, "Sephiroth?"

Eyes of mako fire fixed on her.

"Have you dreamed of me?" For a moment, she was not certain if she had really spoken. The moonlight lent an otherworldly glow to the scene--dreamlike--and Aeris had tottered on the edge of sleep and wakefulness for so long now that she wondered if she spoke out of a fretful dream or a dreamy fretfulness. "I've dreamed of you. Like you said, all those years ago. I've dreamed of you almost every night."

Was it her imagination, or did his breathing quicken at her words?

"Come here, flower girl," was the low reply.

She rose and put her hand in his. His thumb moved across her skin, caressing her wrist with little circular motions. Moonlight softened his features, smoothing away the creases of hatred and anger. When he spoke, it was almost too low for her to hear, "I have dreamed of you . . . Aeris."

He rolled her name over his tongue, tasting it.

He was so--beautiful-- lying there. His hair shone like a silver river, shimmering on the pillows. White brows like crescent moons, the cool glitter of his cat's-eyes, the hard line of his jaw, the soft line of his lips. His face seemed gentler, looking almost-- young in the ethereal light.

She could almost forgive him for everything he'd done to her. For everything he _hadn't _done.

She reached out to him with her free hand, tracing the angular jaw, the ridges of his cheekbones, the slight shimmer of his eyelids. The barest touch, feather-light, exploratory.

His hand shot up and caught hers, "Don't!" he cried.

Aeris started and tried to jump away. Not because his grip hurt her, but because his voice was utterly uncharacteristic. Gone was his usual tone of cool, mocking command. That single word rang out like a cry of pain.

They stood like that for a moment, panting.

Then, suddenly, Aeris understood.

_Touch._

In bed, Sephiroth took what he wanted-- turning love-making into an impersonal, serviceable contact.

But her undemanding and affectionate caress-- touching only for the sake of touching--opened a gaping wound. Aeris met his eyes and stared down into a chasm of pain, seeing the monstrous hunger of empty years spent untouched. Unwanted.

The force of the ache inside him struck her like a physical blow and she gasped. His was a void she could not hope to fill. No matter how she cared for him, no matter what she gave.

She pulled away, but the hand around her fingers tightened, not squeezing tighter, but the grip itself grew firmer. He sat up and pulled her to him, one arm opening the coverlet, the other drawing her into the bed no one ever shared with him.

His lips found hers, and his tongue darted between her teeth, sliding like a flame into her mouth. She tasted tears, and knew they were her own. She was crying for him-- for the boy he had been, for the cruelty and indifference that made him what he was.

He pulled back. For a moment, he peered into her tear-blurred eyes intently, and then, slowly, his expression changed. The sharp "V" of his snowy eyebrows relaxed, and all the contempt, all the cruel derision that defined him drained away. For a moment, he looked at her only with understanding and--concern.

He released her.

Aeris extricated herself from the tangle of sheets, but felt strangely bereft as she did so.

"Don't cry, pretty flower girl," said the low, smooth voice behind her.

* * *

Author's Note:

This scene is my fav.  
So I might have overdone it. What do you think?  
You have no idea how much I appreciate any and all reviews.


	10. In Gremio Haeremus

Title Translation: Stay in the Cradle  
(But don't trust my Latin. All Latin will be taken from the songs of Nobuo Uematsu, in this case _The Promised Land_, or from Carl Orff's _Carmina Burana_.)

* * *

_You pathetic fool. Shadows and moonlight and a few soft words and you pant like a schoolboy fondling himself._

_Shut up . . . None of that matters now. She's here with me. My one sweet dream. In the midst of all these nightmares--nightmares that don't end with the dawn, I held her. I felt her warmth in my bed and I drank in her scent. We shared a moment more intimate than sex. I know she felt it too. Let her do as she wishes now. She is mine. She is mine and one day, she will come to me of her own accord. That's all that matters._

"Sephiroth?"

"Hmm?"

"In the slums, where I grew up, we used to sing each other to sleep sometimes . . . Can I sing for you?"

He ran a hand through his hair and lay back, one hand beneath his head, staring up at the ceiling pattern he had memorized. He'd redone this ceiling five times since the completion of the palace--but always, in the darkness, the delicate scrollwork mutated--twisting into lurid demon-heads and grasping, clawed hands. Blades and fire and staring corpse-faces.

"Of course you may," he said.

Her voice lifted, clear and slow, the words like balm on his wounded spirit. She sang a ballad, one he'd never heard before, but the words were less important than the bittersweet, lilting melody.

She sang:

_With quiet step and gentle face,  
With tattered cloak, and empty hands,  
She came into the market place,  
A traveler from many lands._

_And where the fairest blossoms lay,  
And where the rarest fruits were sent  
From earth's abundant store, that day,  
She turned and smiled in her content._

Her voice, and the moonlit darkness, cast a soothing spell over him, lulling him. The setting lent an unnatural intimacy to her words, as if she were whispering to him the secrets of her own heart.

_When for her tender healing ways,  
The women begged her help again,  
She answered, "In these bounteous days  
I may not let my love remain."_

_But when the children touched her hair,  
And put their hands about her face,  
She sighed, "There is so much to share,  
I well might bide a little space."_

_But ere the shadows longer grew,  
Or up the sky the evening stole,  
She took the lonely way she knew,  
And journeyed onward to her goal._

_She turned away with steadfast air,  
From all their choice of fair and sweet,  
And, as she turned, they saw how bare  
And bruiséd were her pilgrim feet._

_Through many a rent and tattered fold,  
As she went forward on her quest,  
They saw the wounds so deep and old,  
The cruel scars upon her breast._

_They called to her to wait, to learn  
How they would ease her pain, to dwell  
With them awhile; she did but turn  
And wave her smiling last farewell._

It was there again, Sephiroth noted with drowsy unconcern. That feeling. The sense of something--powerful, magical-- present in her.  
_. . . I know what it is now. It's the Planet's voice, singing to her, singing through her._

_And in their midst a woman rose,  
And said, "I do not know her name,  
Nor whose the land to which she goes,  
But well the roads by which she came._

_"And down the stony slopes they lead,  
Through many a deep and dark ravine,  
Where long ago it was decreed  
Nor sun nor moonlight should be seen._

_"Across the waste where no help is,  
And through the winds and blinding showers,  
Among the mist-bound silences,  
And through the cold despairing hours._

_"Among the lonely, lonely hills,  
Ah me, I do not know her name,  
Nor whose the bidding she fulfils  
But well the roads by which she came."_

The gentle song of the Lifestream. He could almost--almost hear it, almost feel it. Like vibrations of rain against a pane of glass--cooling, but not washing his burning skin. The Planet pattering against his defenses.

He was still cut off from it, but he knew it was there, and that calmed him.

Inch by inch, Sephiroth relaxed his iron grip on the world. On consciousness.

_Then spake a youth, who, long apart,  
Had watched the people come and go,  
With clearer eyes and wiser heart,  
And said, "Her face and name I know._

_"And well the passage of her flight,  
The starless plains she must ascend,  
And well the darkness of the night,  
In which her pilgrimage shall end._

_"But stronger than the years that roll,  
Than travail past, or yet to be,  
She presses to her hidden goal,  
A crownless, unknown Victory."_

* * *

"That is how caring for him will be, child. Difficult. Painful. For he does not yet know how to love, nor how to receive love. Your love alone will not save him. He must learn to receive mine, too. And others'. For his scars run deep."

Will he ever learn, my friend?

"That is his choice, not ours."

* * *

Word had gotten round the palace staff.

Yesterday morning, when she went to work in the kitchens, Aeris had been an equal--a little lower than an equal, actually, since she was new. Today, she was a celebrity.

_Better than a celebrity. A puzzle._

A servant's life is one of dull routine, enlivened primarily by gossip about the masters and wealthy guests. As she made her way down to the kitchens, she sensed the walls humming with talk--of her.

Here, a conversation died as she stepped into view. There, a bobbed curtsey from a maid in a uniform identical to hers. And everywhere, eyes staring at her, making her want to smooth her hair or hide her hands behind her back. A few looked at her with pity, a few more with envy, but most were curious stares, not unkind.

"Why are they looking at me like that?" she hissed to Marla.

Marla grinned, showing a gap between her teeth. "They want to know what beautiful is."

At first, Aeris didn't understand, but by ten o'clock, more than one girl had redone her hair into Aeris' characteristic twisting braid tied with ribbon.

She was the woman who had gotten closer to Lord Sephiroth than any soul had ever gotten. She had done in a day what a dozen mistresses spent months attempting.

When the excited whispers were not about her, they centered on Sephiroth--who was in better spirits than anyone could remember.

Almost playful.

For him.

A condemned criminal was abruptly, and for no apparent reason, released. A raid on a village was called off. A colonel was reprimanded for excessive discipline of a subordinate.

This morning, too, he had waved away a selection of finely-tailored suits and called for his armor-- although he indicated no wish to join his troops. He looked as if the last five years had simply rolled away, and he was again the lauded and sought-after general of Shinra.

Rumors flew.

She was pregnant with his child. She was blackmailing him. She had secretly married him. She was his spy, sent to flush out dissidents from his servants.

She was utterly unexpected.

Only Sandria glared at her with undisguised hatred. The blonde woman's suites were cleared out and she found herself suddenly demoted to secretary of a minor noble.

Everyone else followed the twists of Aeris' fortune with eager fascination, waiting for something--magic. Lady Aeris shared Sephiroth's bed (or so it was assumed) and was mistress of the house, and yet-- was one of them. Sort of.

Aeris found herself standing in a corner of the kitchen, wringing her hands in her apron--with nothing to do but suffer the ingratiating remarks of a few upwardly mobile servants. This quickly became unbearable, and when a yes-man insisted on praising Sephiroth to her, she answered, with some asperity, "No, I _don't_ agree! Sephiroth is _a long way _from beingthe best ruler in history! No matter what his powers and intelligence, he's not a god, and he shouldn't be treated like one! And as far as what you said about his looks--" she faltered, "well, he shouldn't be able to treat people the way he does no matter _what _he looks like."

The sounds of the kitchen died and behind her, a low, cool chuckle made Aeris go cold. She whirled, and found herself staring into a pale, familiar face-- a half-smile curving his mouth. He leaned easily on the doorframe, appraising her, then his head tilted down until his face was only inches from hers and he whispered, "And oh, you're so-- cute-- yourself, Miss Aeris." Mocking amusement touched his eyes and voice.

_Ack! He looks like he expects me saunter into a brothel and put myself on display!_

He straightened. She took in the leather straps that formed a black "X" across his bare chest, the long leather coat that shone like onyx, falling nearly to the ground and making his tall frame taller, darker. When he stepped towards her, his myriad buckles jingled lightly and leather creaked, sounds that amplified-- not broke-- the silence that always accompanied him. He drew her against him, pressing a quick kiss to the side of her mouth.

Someone dropped a tray, and the clattering bang made her jump, but Sephiroth still held her.

Her cheeks flamed and she hid her face against his heart. She heard his deep voice rendered even deeper as she listened through his chest, saying, "Lady Aeris will be in the gardens from now on. It suits her better."

A few hurried, "Yes, m'lords," and she was being guided out, carried up, up into the air.

* * *

Author's Note:

THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed! I am truly, profoundly grateful.

The "lyrics" to Aeris' song (really a poem) are from Dollie Radford's "A Ballad of Victory." They belong to Dollie.

A word about Sephiroth's backstory.  
Funkless has brought it to my attention that I haven't quite made Sephiroth's history clear for this dimension. (I know you were asking about the upcoming Nibelheim issue, Funk, but I wanted to sort out what _didn't _happen in Nibelheim five years ago.)  
The premise here is that in this universe, Sephiroth _doesn't _go completely insane when he finds out about the experiments that made him. In my world, he also does a little more research and finds out who his real parents are. He isn't exactly thrilled.  
Consequently, he no longer thinks he is a Cetra. I know that deviates from a couple of lines in the original "Dream of Me."  
At any rate, if you're wondering why he hasn't said or thought anything about being a Cetra-- that's why. He knows he's not a Cetra; he knows Aeris is a Cetra; and he knows he isn't quite human, either. I'll go into more detail on all this later on. Sephiroth has a villain's monologue coming up, but not for a while yet.


	11. Rosebud

**Warning**: Please **do not read this chapter** if you are in any way offended by material that can be described as: **lemony**, **raunchy**, **spicy**, **baudy**, **heated**, or '**adult-only**.' In fact, skip the next chapter, too. Please don't feel in any way obligated to read this if you think it will bother you. I am writing what comes to me, uncensored, but I'm extremely self-conscious about these scenes, and I don't want anyone reading them who isn't going to like them.

* * *

"Sephiroth, don't! Please! Someone will see us!" 

It was hard to talk between kisses. Harder still because she had to cling to him for balance.

"I've sent everyone away from this area, my pet. Not that anyone but me came here often. You'll have to find a different excuse."

Then his mouth covered hers again, silencing her. She was always so infuriatingly helpless in his arms. He had only to kiss her and he could take--everything. What was worse, he knew it.

Her skirt fell away first this time, sliding off her legs and fluttering like a butterfly to the earth below. Then his hand slid up to the neck of her blouse, and he began unclasping buttons one at a time.

"Just seeing what surprises you have for me, my pretty one," he murmured, admiring the flesh-colored silk of her underthings.

He had set her down in a tree, the tree being inside a glass greenhouse deep in the bowels of the palace. Clearly it was some vestige of the former Shinra experiments, because flowers bloomed everywhere in a perpetual spring. He pressed her against a diagonal branch, half-standing, half lying, while he himself braced above her, kissing her with slow, controlled kisses.

A rosebud tree, she knew, one of the last. Now in full bloom. An enormous rosebud tree, veiling them from the world with quiet green and shifting shadow. The leaves blotted out the artificial sunlight above and the ground beneath, so it was like being inside a rose-scented orb, the heavy red blossoms dropping tiny petals over their intertwined bodies. Red petals caught in the white of his hair like drops of blood.

Feebly she tried to push him away, but he only pressed against her harder, gripping her by the hips so she could feel his pressure against the yielding place between her thighs, could experience her effect on him.

Her eyes flew open.

"No, no please, Sephiroth!" she gasped against his lips.

"That's it, my little Cetra," he whispered back, mako-green eyes darkening with desire, "Shiver for me. Shudder for me. Fight me. I _will_ have you."

But even as he spoke, he drew back, leaning on his side beside her.

_Oh, Planet, I can't take it anymore! _

He fingered a twig, bending it so a flower twisted in his hand. "You see, my lovely, all of these flowers are mine . . . And the one I choose will yield to me." Slowly, he turned the stem, pinching it expertly. "And I _will _pluck it. When the time is right." The stem gave with a snap, leaving him holding a single red rose--a bud just beginning to open.

He touched her with the flower, using it to caress her eyelids, her lips. A light, tickling caress that made her shiver. Then down her neck, and between the swells of her breasts. Down the curve of her waist to the damp place between her legs. Then up again, up her belly, up her ribs, and he paused to inhale its scent before setting it in her hair.

He leaned over her again.

"Stop," she whispered, "Please stop. I can't--It's too much--"

He kissed her again, roughly, his tongue inside her, tasting her.

"What do you want from me?" she gasped when he pulled away.

"Say you belong to me. Body and soul. Call me your master and I'll release you."

"No, please--"

"This goes on as long as you let it," he said, "I can wait. Sooner or later, you'll give in . . . I'm not going to stop until you do." His breath sent chills across her skin. Then she felt the cold press of steel on her. The little jeweled knife.

Her bra gave way, then her underwear, and she lay half-under and half-beside him, completely nude.

His touch on her body was smooth, possessive, trailing cold fire. One hand slid up her soft thigh, and her legs parted for him, giving him access to the most intimate part of her body. He touched her carefully with his index finger, stroking her outer lips, touching her everywhere but the tight nub of flesh at her entrance.

What little restraint Aeris had left to her cracked. She whimpered.

"Say you want it, and I'll give it to you." His voice both beckoned and taunted.

"I want it," her voice trembled.

"'I want it,' what?"

"I want it, Master."

Mako-green eyes glowed in triumph. His finger slid into her.

"Perfect, my little flower girl," he whispered, "As long as we both understand that I have you-- right… under… my… thumb." Each of the last words was punctuated by a slow, circular motion of his thumb on her sensitive tip--just the barest touch of his rough finger.

She writhed under him.

"Don't worry. This time… I'm not stopping."

He did not stop, but he did not increase the pace either. Only rubbed her nub of flesh around and around while her body bucked and wriggled against his hand.

A second finger slipped into her, making her feel full and distended, and his mouth covered hers, muffling her hungry moans.

Then, without warning, the motions of his thumb came faster, harder.

She felt as if she were being pushed over the top of a hill, cresting a wave of agony and desire.

Her back arched. Her eyes flew open, unseeing.

Wave after wave wrenched her, breakers of pleasure, pure and deep.

She thought she would faint from ecstasy as erotic bliss rushed up within her, shattering her . . . wracking her . . .

When she could see again, she knew she lay underneath him, shuddering, her whole body throbbing with aftershocks.

He kissed her again, gently now, and brushed away a petal that clung to the side of her damp cheek like a single, red tear. His arms encircled her, and he drew her off the branch, letting her collapse, still panting, on the soft earth.

He turned away from her then, breathing deeply, calming himself. Aeris wanted to reach for him, to let him take everything, make him feel as he had made her feel.

_He got what he wanted… he made me beg. What is he still waiting for?_

_Unless… he isn't waiting for something in me, at all. But for something in himself?_

"Out that door, you'll find the western gardens," he said, "Work there until I send for you." For a moment, his calm melted and he reached out to cup her face. "Until tonight, then . . . Aeris."

Then, his leather coat flapping around him like bat's wings, he was gone.


	12. Lord Sephiroth's Fool

Author's Note: Actually, this chap is clean. I thought I knew what I was going to write about, but I turned out to be completely wrong.  
For those of you who've been wondering, "Ok, so _where's Avalanche_?" Here's what they've been up to:

* * *

The man gazed out the window in the direction of Midgar. His arms were folded across his chest, and his blood-red cloak hid all but his blood-red eyes. The cloak clasped with a line of black buckles, beginning at his heart and creeping up his face, forming a kind of half-mask. His skin, where it showed, was so pallid as to be nearly blue. Red eyes, edged with thick, soot-black lashes, stared into the horizon as dying rays of sunlight touched the gold claw that was his left hand. 

Out there, the sun also set on Sephiroth, son of his beloved, her last living remnant.

And he, Vincent, was aiding the plot to kill him.

_Am I on the verge of committing another sin? Or am I atoning as best I can for only watching what they did to him? _

_What they did to _her.

"Cloud's getting edgy," Tifa, approaching him from behind, kept her soft voice even softer than usual. They were in an abandoned mako reactor-- Resistance headquarters-- and echoes carried easily and far. "This took a lot longer than any of us expected."

"I fear we may already be too late," he replied.

"Don't say that, Vincent, we have to--"

"The fact remains-- he has had her with him for over forty hours. Whatever he wanted to do to her, he has doubtless done by now."

A side door flung open with a bang and a young woman with cropped black hair burst in, waving a piece of paper. Yuffie.

Although her energy was undimmed, the thin, wiry ninja had dark circles under her eyes, and the bandanna around her forehead was askew-- the last nights had been sleepless for everyone who called Aeris "friend."

"She's still alive!" Yuffie blurted. "We just got the report from the palace spies!" She scanned the paper further and her face fell. "But-- she spent last night in his room . . ."

"Oh, gods . . ." Tifa breathed.

Red eyes narrowed and Vincent bent his head, obscuring more of his face in the crimson cloak. "Cloud's right. This is taking too long."

"Well how were we supposed to know that coming to the Resistance for help would mean _days_ of loyalty tests." Bitterness sharpened Yuffie's words. Like most Wutaians, she had no patience for bureaucracy. "We offer our services, and we get treated like spies. If we hadn't been out killing SOLDIERs for them when Agrenschall died, they'd probably think _we _did it!"

"We came at a bad time for them." Tifa's voice was placating. "Sephiroth has his spies too, and they needed to know we weren't traitors. Agrenschall _did _listen to us once Lyssa and Jonathan vouched for us, even though some of his advisors told him not to."

"_Agrenschall_," Yuffie sneered. "Some _leader_. He told us he was already in contact with her! That was _days _ago now!"

"Somehow I doubt he ever intended to help us get her out," Vincent said.

"What?" Both women spoke at once.

"Agrenschall was a politician. His aim was to make as many people _think _he cared about their interests as possible. The truth, as far as I can see, was that he wanted to use Aeris to get to Sephiroth. She was nothing but a pawn for him to take Midgar for himself."

"But that's--" Tifa began.

"It hardly matters," Vincent went on. "He's dead now, and the Resistance is without a leader. We--"

"_Was _without a leader."

Three faces turned toward the door.

In the dim light of the hallway stood a muscular man dressed in black-- loose-fitting slacks and tight-fitting shirt-- and shadowed by an enormous buster sword, silver in the darkness. His hair glinted gold-- jagged blonde locks jutting over crystal blue eyes that shone, SOLDIER-bright, even across the room.

"Representatives from the four resistance factions have asked me to be their leader," Cloud Strife said.

"_What_?" Yuffie demanded.

"But-- we just got here," Tifa said.

"I think that's exactly why the _did _ask me. We're a wild card. If I lead, none of the factions have to acknowledge supremacy to any of the others. Plus, if anything goes wrong, they can just blame me-- each of them still looks good in front of their supporters. Mostly, though, I think I'm a temporary fix until they find the spy who killed Agrenschall, then one of them will try to seize power."

"Aw, gods! This is so _complicated_! What do we need these guys for anyway?" Yuffie almost spat in disgust.

"_We _don't. Aeris certainly doesn't. But the world does," Tifa said. "Saving Aeris-- and saving Nibelheim, too, if their intelligence is correct-- means killing Sephiroth. If we take the world from him, we have to be sure we're making it something better."

"That's just it," Cloud said, and his azure gaze slid to the floor. "If I accept this position, I'll be tied to the Resistance and all its problems . . . Besides, Sephiroth was my childhood hero. I was _there_ in Nibelheim five years ago-- I _saw _him choose sanity. How do I know I'll really be improving things for--"

Yuffie interrupted with a snort. "Well, if you're not planning on burning any cities to the ground, you should have a head start," she said.

"Madness comes in many forms, Cloud," Vincent added. "Often it does not come in a single moment but rather as a slow descent. Even if Sephiroth resisted insanity once, he may have lost himself-- piece by piece-- in the last five years. Power and luxury often breed madness-- not the contentment everyone seems to expect."

"Then do you-- all of you-- really think _I'm _the best choice? The Resistance knows I have your support," Cloud went on, "and over the last two days they've seen how strong Avalanche is when we fight together. We have their interest, if not their full confidence. But-- leading a movement is different from leading a group of friends . . . Tell me what you think. Vincent, if you don't think I'm right for it, say something now."

"I may not be the best person to ask. I have been out of the world for so long its politics cease to intrigue me. I would not be here-- even now-- if I did not know Aeris," the man in red replied. "I don't care what Sephiroth is doing, so much as the idiotic way that he's doing it. Slaughter will hardly win him any political favor. But if you're asking if I trust you to lead to the best of your ability, and lead well-- then yes, I do."

"And you Teef?"

Tifa smiled. "See what you're doing? You're asking advice. _That's _what makes a good leader."

Blue crystals glowed and a little smile touched the blonde man's lips. "Alright then everyone. We've got a world to save, but Aeris is still our first priority. We need to mobilize as many people as possible, create a diversion. Taking Sephiroth out can be done later. I've got something in mind and we're going to need explosives-- lots of them."

* * *

Aeris understood why Sephiroth wanted her here, in this particular garden. The windows to his command room overlooked this patch of ground, and, periodically throughout the afternoon, she felt his gaze on her.

He wanted her where he could see her.

Now and again she caught a glimpse of him, a cup of tea or a stack of notes in his hand-- watching her.

His gaze was a cat's gaze, patient and tense. Waiting.

_Gods! Of course, he _had _to be so blasted _calm _about everything! Well, if he wants to see me red-faced and sweaty and dirty-- _fine!-- _let him. _

She could only hope that he didn't know enough horticulture to tell what she was doing. The garden, when she arrived, was trim, neat, and completely devoid of color. Not a single thing bloomed among the low maze of hedges and prickly, disagreeable shrubs.

Ten servants were waiting for her when she arrived. Apparently, Aeris had been promoted to head gardener without her knowledge. One of them, Elena, explained that the gardens had a generous budget and whatever she wanted done could be accomplished.

After a getting a quick tour, and giving a thorough scolding for using artificial pesticides, Aeris sent the servants out to "buy every tineric seed in the city." Three stayed behind, despite her orders-- Elena among them. Only then did Aeris notice the muscles these three possessed, their fighting stance-- and the holstered guns tucked surreptitiously at their sides.

_Turks._

_Not servants, then. _

_Guards._

Well, Turks could plant flowers as well as anyone else. So while the servants were scouring the city for tineric, Aeris (plus Elena, Reno, and Rude) dug holes for seeds, hauled fertilizer, and checked the soil acidity levels. It was solid, comforting, dirty work (at least to her, Reno seemed a little put-off by the whole business) and it gave her something to think about other than the aftershocks still coursing through her.

Several times she paused to glare up at the window.

Tineric, better known as "princess-bells," was a thin-stemmed annual with stalks of delicate, blushing blooms, iridescent as bubbles. The plant was frilly, girly, meant "dainty guilelessness" in the language of flowers-- and was nearly impossible to eradicate. Aeris loved princess bells, but that wasn't why she chose them.

In two weeks, the entirety of the western grounds would be awash in pink.

_How's _that_ for a view, you devil? Serves you right._

A pitiful, petty revenge, but all she had available to her.

Marla found her in the gardens as the westering sun turned the sky to crimson and gold. She was full of motherly reprimands for not changing into proper gardening attire, for not dressing warmer, "And your hair! What have you been doing? Digging with it?" she exclaimed as she bustled her back inside. "What kind of jacket is that, anyway? You'll catch your death, and then where will I be? Where will any of us be?-- Lord Sephiroth is a different man around you, you know. What you said in the kitchen! People have disappeared for half so much audacity! But you! Your bravery is fast becoming legend."

Aeris flushed, rejecting any feminine pride of conquest. She tried to explain the truth to Marla: "It's only because he knows he's got me where--"

"Posh! He's got everyone where he wants them! My dear . . . I know it's too early to really be saying this but--you've made him--happy. Happier than any of us ever saw him. Even the Turks were talking about it. And _they _never meddle in his personal affairs." She bustled Aeris into Sephiroth's anteroom, and shook out a warmed nightdress for her. Green and silver this time. The color of his eyes. "Is this one alright? Good! Then, into the shower with you. He requested that you eat in here tonight. He'll join you as soon as his work allows."

Aeris nodded, grateful that Marla seemed to have realized how uncomfortable being dressed and bathed made her. This way, she wouldn't have to advertise the fact that she wasn't wearing the same undergarments she'd picked out this morning.

"Oh, and-- This is for you--" She extended a large, stiff envelope toward her.

The envelope rattled a little-- with seeds, and inside was a thick, smooth piece of paper. The latter bore a message written in stark, precise handwriting-- both cramped and graceful at once. The letters crouched on the page, then jutted up and down in sweeping arcs whenever opportunity allowed.

The note read:

You are free to do what you choose with the Western Gardens. They are a gift.  
Kindly, do not make me regret giving it.

For your consideration:

He'd enclosed a pressed bloom which Aeris recognized immediately as euridium-- what the Wutaians called "death blossoms" because they were often used at funerals and gravesites. A slender, milk-white flower, it was nearly extinct after the wars, which had both destroyed most of its natural habitat and caused the flowers to be-- overused.

There was no signature.

"He almost never signs anything," Marla explained. "He's like the man his sword is named after-- he doesn't need to sign his work."

Aeris shook the seeds into her palm. They were thinner and smaller than apple seeds, but about the same shape. Some were whitish green and some were rusty brown.

_But-- I thought _all _euridium seeds were green._

_--Blood._

Some of the seeds were stained with old blood. Aeris resisted the urge to fling them from her, knowing that she held some of the last euridium in the world. Instead, she poured them back into the envelope.

That sick, demented psychopath had given her _bloodstained_ seeds.

A little trophy from Wutai that hadn't escaped being defiled by war.

Was it just to turn her stomach, to let her know her place?

Or-- and perhaps this was more likely-- had he simply not considered that some people object to the sight of blood?

"He gave you flowers?" Marla seemed unable to restrain the question.

"Not exactly."

And yet, as Aeris stood in the shower, it occurred to her that he _had _given her flowers-- the only kinds of flowers he knew. He'd given her a garden-- his own, colorless garden. And he'd given her the white blooms he'd encountered in Wutai, preserved for future reference by an observant soldier-- a general who made note of anything that might be a hindrance or a help.

Undoubtedly, he knew she would _love_ to cultivate the dying species-- no matter what the condition of the seeds. Euridium was a beautiful flower-- graceful, wild and sweet-smelling-- with long, blade-like petals that curved slightly, white as bone. It would not be the most aesthetically pleasing compliment for princess bells, but he seemed to have no eye for that.

Two gifts, gifts he knew she couldn't refuse: flowers and a place to grow them.

His past and his present.

Was he this considerate of all his bedmates?

Somehow, that seemed unlikely.

But surely it was equally unlikely that he was really, truly-- trying to please her?

After her shower, Aeris sat in front of the gilt vanity, which had been moved in from one of the harem-suites, and let Marla brush her hair. "We hope great things for you, Lady Aeris," Marla said, "We've already seen that you can say things to him no one else can. You could be our voice when his anger deafens him . . . Oh, listen to me rattle on. What I mean to say is, you are _liked _here. You're unpretentious. You're kind. And you're not above getting your hands dirty. That makes an impression on people. You're like _him_, you know."

"I _am_?"

"Certainly! People want to follow you, or at least-- be around you. You both have your own magnetism, you both have your own sadness--" Marla faltered, realizing the inappropriateness of what she just said.

Aeris decided to laugh it off. "Ha. Sadness? What do _I_ have to be sad about? I've been chosen to be the leader of this household. What am I supposed to be sad about?"

Marla laughed too, a little nervously, as if shocked by Aeris' sarcastic frankness. The look in her eyes said that most of Sephiroth's women would have raked her over hot coals before allowing such a breach of formality. When she met Aeris' eyes, though, she gave a wide, relieved smile. "Why, nothing at all, dear," she said. "_Every _girl wants to be _you_. Just between you and me, though, none of them would make the impression on him you have. So they're all just a little jealous-- you remember that, in case you overhear the nickname you've been given."

"Nickname?"

"The servants give all of Sephiroth's women a nickname. Juna was Stickyfingers. Sandria was Gritty--because of the 'sand' in her name and because she made you grit your teeth whenever _he_ wasn't watching. You--you come across as being not-quite nobility and not-quite a servant, either. You're the one who can be honest with him, who can make him glad. Like a court jester."

"A _what_?"

"I know, it's a terrible name, but _I_ didn't make it up: 'Lord Sephiroth's Fool.'"

_Appropriate_, Aeris thought.

* * *

Author's Note: Thanks, Foi! I hadn't thought about what Aeris was doing in the garden until you mentioned it. Princess bells and death blossoms owe their existance to you. 


	13. Hac in Hora

Title Translation: So at This Hour

* * *

Aeris ate in silence, having dismissed Marla.

Intellectually, she understood that the wine was good, and so was the dinner salad. Everything seemed costly, and so was probably delicious.

She didn't taste much of it though, being more aware of the fluttering in her stomach and the rapid beating of her heart.

Her little cot was gone.

No more nights would go by without him claiming her.

She was not sure she _wanted _another night to go by.

Part of her would never be ready to give herself to this cold, terrifying monster. Part of her would always be ready.

_What _was _his reason for waiting?_

An idea formed in her mind, wordless at first, just an impression born out of that deep, soul-connection she sensed between them.

Then, suddenly, she knew.

_He doesn't want me to hurt him._

The thought doused her anger with cold certainty.

"_Have you ever wondered, child," _the Planet's voice was clear and soft,_ "why those who experience the most rejection-- especially early in life-- are always the ones who fear it above all things?" _

_I know what Vincent said about his childhood. Shinra used him as an experiment-- they were trying to make a Cetra, or the ultimate SOLDIER. He couldn't have been happy._

"_He wasn't. Don't be angry with him, child."_

_But he _kidnapped _me!_ _He keeps me here under guard!_ . . . _And he's _spurned _me! _Three _times now!_

_"But always, he reaches for you again. He needs you."_

Aeris considered this for a moment.

_Does he-- love me?_

"_He doesn't want to love."_

The window flew open and a night air swept into the room, snuffing out the candle and sending embers swirling up the chimney.

A dark silhouette filled the window, black leather whipping around him, his hair a silver slash.

"Waiting for me, my pet?" the low voice crooned.

"Always," she whispered.

His hard, predatory face softened in answer, recognition and realization playing across his shadowed features.

* * *

So it's really true then. We've shared the same dream. The way she answered--as if there could never be any other answer.

She wore a pale green nightdress, the color of the Lifestream, the color of his eyes, which rippled around her in the cold wind. One of the straps had slipped off, revealing the smooth curve of her shoulder.

He did not take his eyes off her as he closed the window behind him. Her hair fell, unbound, around her face in waves of dark honey. He could see her chest heaving; perfect emeralds fixed on his every move.

His leather boots creaked as he approached her, his footfalls lost in the plush carpet. He reached out and took her fingertips, as if leading her onto a ballroom floor and she rose, shakily, to her feet.

_She knows tonight will be different._

_Good._

For a moment, he stood with her, brushing the tops of her fingernails with his thumb, then he pulled her toward him, savoring the look in her eyes. Trepidation, certainly, and perhaps a hint of real fear, but mingled with it--excitement.

_She's ready now. Ready for me._

He drew her hand to his lips and kissed the inside of her wrist. Then he set one hand at the small of her back and began a gentle, rocking dance. She wobbled a moment before her feet found the rhythm. He heard no starsong, but felt it, pulsing around them both, sweet as a lullaby. He watched her meadow-green eyes as, bit by bit, Aeris relaxed in his arms.

His hand slid up her back, pulling her closer, coming to rest at last on the base of her neck, which he pressed gently into his chest. She gave a little shuddering sigh and settled against him.

He pressed a light kiss to the top of her head, then bent to her ear, and whispered, "Tonight, Aeris."

Aeris nodded slightly into the cold buckles of his trench coat, "Alright."

"Wrong answer," he snarled, and he swept her easily into his arms and deposited her on the bed. Aeris only had time to give a little gasp and then he was above her, his silver hair curtaining them from the rest of the world.

* * *

Author's Note on why this chapter is so short: I've broken it into two parts because it gets-- uh-- a bit risqué.  
And if you don't want to read that, you shouldn't have to. 

BTW, my reviewers are all awesome people, and I love them to pieces.


	14. Gloriosa Generosa Sephiroth

Warning: **Smut.** Once again, a heads up about the content. Please skip this chap if you are avoiding the more intimate bits.  
It's a frigging love scene, folks. It's got-- frigging in it.  
Like I've said, I really don't censor myself whilst 'being creative' so **seriously, **if you don't want to read this stuff**-- go away**.You're welcome back next chap.

* * *

His pale face was all she could see above her. Eyes like twin fireflies beneath white, straight brows. 

Then his mouth covered hers, and she could see nothing, feel nothing but him. He was everywhere--the taste of him, the scent of him--sharp and heady. Sheer maleness with a faint tang of fire or metal. Or blood.

Slowly, possessively, his hands moved over her, smoothing away every sensation that was not _him_, touching her as she had never been touched. The shy, demure Aeris burned away under the caress as new sensations tore through her body. She was burning; she was drowning in _him_.

From his first touch, liquid flame shot through her veins and down, down to the secret parts of her body. Those parts of her that had throbbed all afternoon with aftershocks flared to life like a banked fire devouring new kindling. The cleft of her womanhood felt heavy and hot, aching with a steadily building pulse.

Her nightdress was coming open. She gave a desperate little mewling cry, muffled beneath his hungry kiss. Below, the green silk was already hiked up to her thighs, his knees spreading her legs, exposing her.

Pressure.

Pressure and heat.

"Wait, no please! Be gentle!" she cried.

The hands stopped unbuttoning the dress. They were already to her belly, and part of her breasts showed between the open halves of the fabric.

"I've been very gentle with you, little flower girl," he hissed, but he belied his own harsh tone by pulling himself away and sitting up beside her trembling form. Forcing her shaking limbs into action, Aeris retreated beneath the covers of the bed.

Silk sheets tonight.

Kept warm by some minor spell.

_Not,_ she knew, _for his benefit_.

Sephiroth's eyes narrowed as he watched her withdraw, but he did not move to stop her. "Still the little tease, I see . . . I've waited five years from the day I first meant to have you. I can't imagine why." His eyes perused the coverlet that hid her, "Or how, for that matter."

"I can," Aeris held the linens over her like a shield, and her hair almost covered her face as she spoke. "You need to be sure you can throw me away like all the others. You can't touch me unless you know _I _can't touch your heart."

* * *

Sephiroth stared at her. 

Her voice held no reproach, no baiting, just a sad little whisper that went through him like an icy wind. His arms ached for her, his chest--what _was _that feeling?

He wanted to hold her. To protect her.

But from what? Himself?

_Because what she says is true. I _want_ her to mean nothing to me._

Part of his mind had already tried to classify her with all the others, comparing and contrasting her with the other women he'd embraced. Then, with those mild words, she separated herself from every person he ever knew.

Just as she had that first day on the barren Midgar plains.

When he finally spoke, the words came slowly, as if each one were being torn from him. "Insightful . . . as ever . . . aren't you, my little flower girl?"

He turned away, although he still felt her warmth beside him. He had _hoped _she would be like the others, so he could have her and have done with her. It would be reassuring to think "all women are whores," to know he would keep her only as long as she was entertaining-- to know he was in control.

Clearly, she was having none of that.

Instead, she fed another, scarce-used part of his soul. A part of him that believed she--her unique essence and being--was more sacred than any life he had ever encountered--including his own. And with that belief came a nameless feeling that warred with his habitual perversity. A bright emotion flared in his chest, a sensation untamed and untamable.

_This wasn't supposed to happen . . ._

Part of the reason he brought her here, he realized, was because he wanted _proof_ that she was nothing more than a momentary lapse of judgement, exaggerated in his mind by the stress of those dark days just before he met her-- when he learned the truth of his existence. He had been pushed to the brink of insanity then: hearing Mother calling for him, hearing Mother screaming for him. But Aeris had come, washing over his skin like rain, smelling of honeysuckle, tasting of life.

Surely no one could really _be _what he remembered. He brought her here to prove to himself that she was only a prosaic, pallid creature next to the flower-goddess of his imagination.

Instead, he had brought his sylph to sharp, vivid life. Even worse, the trembling flower girl on the Midgar plains-- half-memory and half-imagination-- faded in comparison with this startling, delicate woman, merciless in her gentleness. Every day, every hour, he felt himself more deeply enmeshed-- in what?

He had no words for it.

A hand on his arm.

"Sephiroth?"

She sat up in the bed, one hand holding the sheet to her breast, the other reaching out to him.

_Oh, gods! She's perfect. Every angle, every curve. Perfect angel flesh. _

_And her eyes-- like green diamonds._

He could still feel her squirming enticingly beneath him, resisting and receiving at once.

Clouds scudded across the moon, casting beams of moonlight across half her face. The other half reflected the low-burning fire. Two lights: one harsh and cool, the other gentle and warm. Distinct but complementary.

She _fit _here. An urge, almost blinding in its intensity, swept through him. He wanted to be with her, to explore her as intimately as possible. The swordsman's hand trembled slightly as he reached up to cover the fingers on his shoulder. He wanted her here, in this room where he spent his nights. It was as if she made this ostentatious room _his_.

For a moment, he hovered at a crossroads. He could push her away, leave this room, and her, and all the strange emotions she brought with her. Sandria was probably still around here somewhere.

Or, he could stay.

Stay with this green-eyed angel with a halo of tousled hair, and let these feelings overpower him.

She had looked away, shyly, when he touched her, but now her eyes met his--and he was lost.

He knew it took all her virginal daring to meet his eyes just then, and he needed no further invitation but that one look--which he caught and held with his own eyes. It was a look he had never seen in her before: eagerness and anticipation--and something else that went beyond simple eroticism.

He heard his own voice speak the words in her eyes: "You _belong _with _me_."

* * *

Sephiroth unclasped his coat and let it slide from his shoulders, pauldrons clanking together when they hit the ground. Hardly daring to look away, he reached down and unfastened his boots, then slid them off. 

"Are you ready, my pet?"

Aeris broke the gaze then, staring down at the sheet that still covered her. Her breathing was quick and unsteady, and a blush reddened her cheeks as she nodded. "But I'll wait," she looked up at him again, "if you're not."

Sephiroth inclined his head at her, a half-smile twisting his lips. She spoke with perfect sincerity--this was no hedge to cover her own reluctance.

He gave a short, startled laugh.

The absurdity of it all! Here she was, his prisoner--if a willing one--and a virgin, and _she _was comforting _him_.

Moonlight and firelight played over her features, darkening her hair and pooling shadows around her. She was smiling. Not, he knew, because she thought her own statement was funny, but because she was glad to hear the tentative, long-disused sound of his laughter.

_Gods, she's even more beautiful smiling than she is afraid._

"I'll manage, little flower girl," he replied.

Emerald eyes stared up at him as he got to his feet, and widened as he unfastened his pants.

* * *

His hair was the only thing obscuring his long, lean form, and it fell around him like a misty waterfall. Each muscle was sculpted perfection: live ivory-- 

_Breathtaking._

Aeris had never seen a naked man before--had never hoped to see _this _one naked until three nights ago when he brought her here.

_What kind of pleasure could I offer him? How could I possibly compare to women who train for years in how to satisfy men?_

And she _wanted _to please him, there could be no denying that. Wanted somehow, despite all the impossibility of it, to stay beside this half-crazed man who made her blood heat and her body sing. To share with him that connection she sensed between them--that twining of souls that bound her to him ever since that day outside Midgar, another lifetime ago.

_For me, there will never be any others._

Her own certainty frightened her.

Everyone who had known her for the past five years thought of her as prudish and conservative, but that was because her passion lay here, in this darkened room with the silver-haired general, burning under the ghost light of his slit-pupiled eyes.

He pulled the coverlet off the bed, glowing mako watching her reactions. Only the warm sheet lay between her and near-complete nudity, and this knowledge made her throb with a deeper, more intimate ache than any she'd ever known.

_He's going to take me. _

_He's going to take me, and I want him to take me._

And she did want it. She hungered for him with a helpless desperation, alarming in its intensity.

He stretched out above her on the bed, supporting his weight on his elbows and thighs. For the second time that night, his face was above her. She recognized his look from when he held her beneath him in the rosebud tree. His cat-like pupils had widened with passion, darkening his eyes the way thunderclouds darken the sky.

* * *

He left the sheet between them, letting its warmth and slipperiness tantalize and excite, but he slid his arms beneath her and felt her body accept his embrace. She did not seem to notice that the arch of her back made the sheet slip down, exposing one of her nipples. 

The sight was painfully beautiful, but he turned his attention to her mouth--a hungry kiss that made all thoughts vanish but the searing beauty of _her_.

_Careful! _

He wrestled for control. He wanted to plunge into her and exult in taking her, but he would have to go slowly if Aeris was to enjoy this.

But being careful was nearly killing him.

"Say you want me," he whispered into her mouth, "Aeris."

"I want you, Sephiroth. Oh gods, I want you. I've waited all these years for you."

He sucked air through his teeth, her hushed words stinging him-- then he parted her lips with a fervid kiss, savoring her with his tongue. He settled his hips against her and, with a shuddering sigh, she arched for him, her body rising to meet his beneath the silk sheet. He accepted the offer and slid over her, turning the arch into a thrust, pushing her deeper into the bed with his hips. She offered again, and again his own body thrust in response.

They surged together, rolling like a slow tide, hips locked, devouring one another.

* * *

Thoughts flashed through Aeris' mind. Pregnancy. Ostracism. The state of her hair. 

But then his hips rolled over hers again and the wave of pleasure was all she could think of.

She melted for him, her body turning to liquid beneath his, and he pressed down into her like a stone into water. All her life, she had heard the planet's song--winds and strings and splashing water. These, the steady thrusts of his passion, these were the percussion. The deep and ancient rhythm of life passing on.

He was kissing his way down her neck: wet, nibbling kisses.

The sheet was down, exposing her breasts.

One of his hands slid down the sheet that still separated them and gripped her hip, stilling the convulsive rocking movements there. Aeris opened her eyes, panting. Colors--the white frost of his hair, the jade green of his cat's eyes--stood out sharp and clear in her passion-dilated eyes.

"Don't look so reproachful, pet. I'm just getting started." The half-smile curved his mouth.

He slid himself lower over her, and she felt his breath on her breasts. He kissed each brown circle, his tongue swirling, sending shivers down her back and slow twisting heat between her thighs. Then he turned his attention to the undersides of her breasts, kissing her lightly like spring rain.

She gasped, then whimpered at the teasing caress.

The sheet slid lower.

He raised himself and pressed against her side, tucking her to him. He angled his head to kiss her, softly, on the lips. He was being willfully overcautious, deliberately refusing to deepen the kisses, leaving her unsated. He paused between each kiss to look into her eyes.

_The next move is mine._

Every inch of her wanted his touch, and she begrudged each part that could not be exposed to him. After a moment, it was she who shrugged out of her nightdress, then peeled the sheet away. She lay before him, covered only with her damp underwear, green as her eyes and tied at the sides.

For a long moment, he only looked at her--a gleam like avarice burning in his mako gaze, making her hips quiver and twitch under his attention.

She looked at him, too.

A lean, hard, pale body, smooth and scarless--which was odd, for a soldier.

_Well, nearly scarless._

A thick white line ran down the inside of his elbow--the same kind that junkies in the slums developed after shooting up too often.

_But, Sephiroth hates drugs. Hardly even approves of painkillers for medunits._

_--Hojo._

The answering thought hit her like a slap.

"What's wrong?" a low, deep voice asked.

"Noth--" An arched eyebrow silenced her. "Your arm," she whispered after a pause. "Does it hurt?"

His white brows relaxed, and she saw that he understood everything she'd been thinking. He glanced down at the inside of his elbow speculatively, then closed his eyes with a sigh and pulled her tighter against him.

"Not right now," he whispered. "Touch me . . . Aeris."

She reached up and touched his face, brushing cheekbones, eyelids, lightly with her fingertips. She let her hand run down his neck to the broad, flat plane of his chest. He stopped her, his hand catching hers again. His eyes were closed-- an expression akin to distress on his marble features.

_It will be a long time before he can stand to be touched. Years, probably._

She leaned her head over and kissed him on the shoulder.

He lifted her fingers to his lips, and then, steadily, drew her hand downward.

Down to the place she hadn't let herself see yet.

She dared to look then, at the nest of silver curls and that part of him, that part of a man she had never touched, stiff and alert. Ready for her.

She sucked in her breath. How could all that ever fit inside her?

"Touch me--there," he said, and stopped guiding her hand.

She reached out gingerly, first with one finger, then with all of them--exploring, brushing him with her fingertips. Smooth and hard and hot.

Sephiroth's breath came in unsteady gasps. A hand on her hip tightened, and she stopped petting him, both frightened and excited by the way his face contorted as he fought for control. "Seph--"

A tiny "sssh" noise silenced her, but it wasn't him hushing her, it was the soft sound of a tie at her hip whispering open. The other side came next, and Aeris felt the slight coolness as her womanhood was exposed to the air of the room. Her heart pounded hard and fast as he drew the panties away from her.

His lips covered hers--a lingering kiss, deep and unhurried, and his hard hand massaged her hip. He drew her lower lip between his teeth and sucked gently, then teased her with a peppering of light kisses, never full on the mouth, as if he were knocking, seeking entry. Aeris parted her lips for him, her quivering breath escaping in a moan.

Again his tongue slid between her teeth, exploring her, caressing the inside of her mouth.

He pushed her legs apart and his hand slid up the inside of her thigh, up to her damp apex. A large hand-- a callused, swordsman's hand-- covered her, making her shudder and gasp. The hand moved in little pleasuring circles, and her muscles locked. She was acutely, almost painfully aware of his every touch, and tension built inside her, making her legs stiffen and her toes curl.

"Oh, Seph, Sephiroth please!"

The little circles moved faster.

Dimly she was aware that he was shifting position, moving down her body, trailing kisses down her belly. The hand moved away, and Aeris opened her eyes only in time to feel his breath on her sex. She cried out as the heat of his mouth touched her--hot and slippery against her hot, slippery places.

"But that must-- No!" Aeris gasped as he opened her with his tongue.

Then she couldn't say anything, couldn't _think _anything, but, "_Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods._" His tongue swirled around her outer flesh, then, more slowly, tasted her inner folds-- the petals of her wet rose. She had not known her body could open this way, she felt stretched, as if she had opened in a perfect "O."

Then his tongue moved to her sensitive nub and swirled it back and forth. Her body clenched, thighs tightening helplessly, and she was aware that he was using some force to hold down her writhing legs.

Lights exploded in her eyes, her hands clutched his hair, her back arched up like a bridge and she climaxed for him, climaxed hard, her body bursting with ecstasy. There was no time. There was no sound. There was only bliss, and heat, and him.

He was moving up her again, his hands pressing into her, caressing every dip and hollow. He paused to kiss her navel, circling and entering it with his tongue.

"Aeris Gainsborough." Hot breath teased her skin. "I have _never _wanted _anything_ as much as I want you." His voice was gravelly and tight. Almost angry.

"I'm yours." Her answer wavered, thin and high, plaintive.

He made a snarling sound and his hands covered her fiercely, kneading her breasts and squeezing her thighs. His tongue was inside her mouth, and she tasted a strange saltiness-- the taste of her own passion. The heat of his body washed through her, the scent of him dizzying, maddening.

He broke the kiss only long enough to say into ear: "_Good_ answer." As he spoke, he seemed to gain some control back, but the tender probing was gone. His movements were purposeful, and his slit-pupils had widened to deep, black ovals.

He would have her and he would have her now.

"Please, oh Sephiroth, please. Oh please," she heard herself begging.

"What is it you want?"

"Please!" she cried, "I want you to take me. Just do it, please!"

He kissed her lips again, and took her hand, guiding it downward until her fingers closed around the base of him. "You do it," he said.

Aeris' eyes flew open and she hesitated, searching his face. She was past blushing, but was he really asking her to break her own virginity?

_He wants me to be a willing participant in this-- every step of the way, so I'll never be able to think it was all his idea._

_It's not just my body he wants-- he could have had that long ago. He's asking for my innocence._

_For my soul._

He shifted so he was above her again, watching her quiver beneath him. Aeris did not let go, just waited until he was in position, then, trembling, she raised her hips and touched him to her opening.

He gasped, and shut his eyes, breathing fast through clenched teeth.

She drew the head of him into herself, pushing until she felt pain, then she let the little bit of him that had worked into her slide out again, and again, pushed him inside.

"Ah!" Sephiroth's uncharacteristic cry made Aeris stop for a moment. He pulled her hand away and drew it around him, so she clung to his back, fingers twining in his moonbeam hair. He lowered himself over her, and the touch of his bare chest on hers seared her, burning her body and spirit.

His hair fell over her like a silver shower, spring rain penetrating the waiting earth. "Don't be afraid," his breath teased her ear, sending shivers through her. He pulled back a little and gripped her by the hips, pressing slightly against her opening. "It will hurt, but only for a moment."

He entered her, hard and hot.

An undignified yelp burst from her lips. Somehow, despite everything she knew, and Sephiroth's own warning, she had not really believed it would hurt.

It did.

He was breaking her, forcing her open. She writhed, feeling pressure, pressure and tearing pain. With a little cry, she tried to shake him from her, but he only thrust in deeper, the barrier of her virginity yielding to him.

"Yes! You're mine now, Aeris. _Mine_!"

Aeris whimpered.

"Sssh, sssh now," he added more gently. "Try to relax."

_Oh gods! I'm not a virgin anymore! I've given myself to this man!_

It took a little while for her to soften for him again, because every time Aeris began to unbend, a stab of pain went through her. Sephiroth surprised her with his consideration, crooning to her and kissing away her tears, kissing her throat and jaw and the hollow of her neck, waiting for her, dissolving her discomfort before continuing.

The scent of him soothed her, as did his patience. He propped himself on his elbows and levitated slightly, encouraging her to look at the place where their bodies joined. His silver curls tangled with her amber ones, and maleness disappeared into her-- but not all the way; he was still waiting for her.

Slowly, she became aware of other sensations besides the pangs. His breath in her nostrils, his sweat in her pores, his body in her body. They were no longer two separate beings, but one-- and bit by bit the _rightness _of being in his arms melted away the last of the pain.

* * *

He was inside her. 

_At last._

He had been waiting for this for the last three days, for the last five years-- for his whole life.

"My pretty Aeris," he whispered, exulting in her body.

Her neck was smooth and inviting, the skin of her breasts soft as lily petals, her hips a sleek, flat plane.

And all the while, her hot, sweet depths tightened around him like heated honey.

He felt-- connected-- as if everything in nature and heaven aligned to make this night perfect. He could feel the pulse of the planet in her veins. The scent of _life--_sweet ambrosia-- herbal and heady, in her hair.

She, the last of her kind, he, the only of his.

Ancient magic and experimental science.

She reached up for him, angling her head to touch her lips to his. It was the first kiss that had been purely her initiative, and he drank it in avidly. She was his desert oasis, his winter haven, his feast.

Her hips ground against him as she took more of him into herself.

Sephiroth gave a strangled gasp and his fingers twisted in her hair.

"Yes, my lovely," he snarled from the back of his throat, "Taste my darkness. And I will have your dark places, too, bright one."

He bent his back, moving deeper inside her slippery heat, pushing into her completely. He felt her clench around him and gloried in her helpless, impassioned cry.

* * *

In and out, slowly at first. Above, he explored her mouth with his tongue, nipped her neck with white, straight teeth. Below, each thrust permeated her with a strange sensation of completion, of fullness, only to be followed by the precious agony of each withdrawal. _This _was the dance he had invited her to. 

But as he moved, something-- else--built between them. Each thrust was pushing them higher, higher toward some nameless ecstasy. His tempo was gradually increasing. She felt him growing hotter, growing harder, if that were possible, his whole body stiffening.

Her own frame answered, tightening her stomach and legs, but leaving her womanhood more pliant and vulnerable than ever. Passion began to wash over her in waves, and as each surge wracked her, she mewled and moaned into his chest.

Her involuntary actions only seemed to fuel his passion further and he moved faster inside her.

The tension rose, she felt it clenching in her loins. They were close now, both so _close_.

His face was above her, contorted as if by pain, agonized arousal twisting the features of the marble god.

She lay pressed beneath him, every nerve and muscle taught, straining with him. Then a new feeling broke through her-- an inexpressible, dizzying elation-- and her body convulsed in ecstasy.

Pleasure and heat sparked in her loins and swept through every fiber of her being. She bucked and writhed, crying out his name.

"Yes, Aeris, give it all to me!"

_Nothing-- _Nothing _could feel better than this._

But, she barely had time to think this when she knew she had been wrong, oh so sweetly wrong.

Sephiroth gave in to his own rapture, letting the paroxysms of pleasure wrack his flesh, and his hot seed filled her. Her body uncoiled: damp earth receiving silver rain.

The world went white.


	15. Sleep and Waking

Author's Note: Ok, they're done. You can look now.

* * *

She fell asleep first, cradled against his lean chest. Despite his own exhaustion, he lay for a long time, staring at the ceiling, letting his fingers trail through her hair. The patterns had never seemed so benign-- pleasant, even. Here was a swirl like a lock of her hair, there, a curve like her hip.

But mostly, he pondered the vision he'd had in the last seconds of his release. Just after the timeless moment of blind exhilaration, he had opened his eyes and seen-- not the room around him, but darkness like the depths of space. Aeris was still with him, still with her head thrown back in the shuddering spasms of her own climax. The Lifestream was all around her, rising and falling, green-white light flowing through her-- changing her skin to its own brilliant, mako hue. Her hair fanned out around her in strands of Lifestream energy, but even then, her eyes shone emerald.

He saw himself too, corpse-white limbs caressing her, clutching her with a grip like the grave. Hades plundering Persephone.

Life and death, destruction and rebirth locked in an eternal embrace. Ever giving, ever receiving, one from the other.

He nestled her closer against him. Even without the vision, she had given him something incredible, something he had never experienced or thought possible: a pleasure more shattering than pain.

Of course, he had taken something rare and precious from her, too.

Her virginity was his-- that coveted first moment of a woman's sexual life. Proof of her lost innocence stained the sheets between their thighs.

_That will bind her to me. Women like her want their first partner to be their only partner._

He felt that he should push that thought away, but something made it particularly enticing. He needed to make sure she would stay with him, that she would _want _to stay with him--

_Gods, am I . . . afraid?_

_I'm afraid she'll leave me!_

Shock made his hand freeze in its idle play, and Aeris stirred in her sleep.

_Then-- she has power over me, power I swore no one would ever have again!_

He looked down at her as if he'd never seen her before. Light, frail. A wisp of a creature. He could break her neck and she would die painlessly, without ever waking.

That last thought he _did _push away, with some vehemence, although such ideas never bothered him before.

Aeris stirred again, and he forced himself to relax.

_Gods, she feels so _good _against me. Warm and steady and sure._

_Light only needs to be one thing. And she is only one thing: purity._

_I am becoming too many things: ruler, soldier, killer, lover. And I must always be too many things-- because shadows twist. It is their way._

He kissed the top of her head again, and brushed a curl away from her ear, then he nestled her tighter against him-- even though this made her make little waking noises in the back of her throat. He angled her head so that their breaths, their spirits, would mingle even when he slept. Until then, he would take in the sight of her unfurrowed brow, listen to the even rhythm of her breathing.

Watch over her.

* * *

Her face rested against his heart. 

They lay together, limbs entwined, Aeris snuggled against his chest. She had woken first, and spent a long while just watching the predawn light cool his sleeping face, fingering his white, shimmering hair that pooled on the pillows like sugared milk, luxuriating in the warmth and rightness of being in his arms. When his jade, catlike eyes finally opened, it was to the sight of sparkling green smiling up at him.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?"

"For being gentle with me."

He was silent a moment before replying. "I should thank you for the same thing."

He looked away as he spoke, and his voice was so low as to be nearly inaudible, but the words froze Aeris' breath in her throat. He was telling her he loved her in his own, oblique way. The words were a gift: the most precious gift a soldier can give.

_Trust._

"Sephir--" he drew her to him and silenced her with a kiss, which was just as well, because she had no idea what she was going to say.

It was a long while before he pulled away and began tracing lazy patterns on her arm.

"Tell me about yourself," she murmured.

The fingers trailing up and down her limb hesitated.

"What's to tell?" he answered.

Aeris burrowed deeper into the crook of his arm. "Oh, I don't know. Anything. Everything. Tell me about your childhood."

"It was painful and dull. Like all childhoods." His words were dismissive, but the hand that had been caressing her went back to his side, and he retreated into himself a little.

"But--"

The intercom chimed.

"Oh, hells," Sephiroth said as he sat up.

When he hit the console, Tseng's voice sounded in the room. "Sir--I didn't want to bother you--"

"I know. What is it?"

"There's a disturbance. In Sector Six. We've contained it as best we can, but--"

"I'll be there."

He snapped the com off with unnecessary force and sat on the edge of the bed, his long back hunched. He ran a hand through his hair and she grinned at the way his forelocks still jutted up higher than his head-- no matter what he did.

"You'll be alright, won't you?" he asked.

"Mm-hmm," she nodded.

Still, he sat for a moment longer. He seemed reluctant to leave and this, too, made her smile.

"Aeris, you could almost make me believe--" He let the thought hang. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Then he was on his feet, tugging on pants and swinging his long coat over his shoulders.

"Sephiroth, don't hurt anyone, okay?"

"Aren't you supposed to be concerned about _my _safety?" His twisted smile tugged at his lips as he spoke. "I'll be going now. I'll come back when it's all over." His fingers brushed her cheek. "Wait here for me."

Then he opened the window and leapt into the gray morning mist, naked Masamune in his hand.

Only then did it truly register.

_Disturbance in Sector Six . . . He's going to kill today._

* * *

_Something's wrong. They're already falling back._

It did not take long for Sephiroth's keen military mind to recognize the disturbance for what it was: a diversion.

A diversion played out by someone who had studied his tactics.

Or, more likely, who had learned tactics from him.

_Cloud._

And if Cloud were behind this, there could only be one thing he was after.

"Reno! Rude!"

The Turks' heads snapped up. They had been holding position in a construction site while a series of explosions detonated further up the street. That was what gave Cloud away-- targeting a traffic juncture that could be attacked with few, if any, civilian casualties.

_The boy's just making noise._

"Get back to the palace, both of you. _Now_!"

"Sir?"

"You're to guard Aeris. Don't disturb her if she's resting-- but I want every bug in that hall running. If _anything_ out of the ordinary happens-- anything at all-- see to it immediately. She is to stay _safe_, understood? I want every door and window in the palace sealed. No one-- none of the staff, _no one_-- is to approach her while I'm away. And be sure of this-- if she disappears, _you will too_!"

Reno gaped at him. Even Rude's mouth hung open a little, and Sephiroth detected rapid movement behind his glasses-- the Turk blinking in disbelief.

"Well?" the Lord of Midgar snapped. "You have your orders-- _go_!"

_And you damn well better see they're carried out._

He wanted to go himself, but he knew, better than most leaders, the shifting nature of power and loyalty. His absence would be noted. Masamune had to be the sword that drove the terrorists away, defending the citizenry for all to see.

Unfortunately, Strife seemed to have the idea that he could retreat quickly and far, forcing Sephiroth into pursuit and causing critical delay-- probably while a select task force crept in behind and--

_They're retreating-- have they already done what they came to do?_

He gritted his teeth.

Rude nodded first. "Right away, m'lord."

* * *

An hour later, as Aeris finished the breakfast a Turk had brought in, a knock sounded from outside.

"Come in!" Aeris called.

_Not Sephiroth, then. _He wouldn't knock on his own door. Besides, he preferred the window.

No answer.

"Come in!" Aeris called a little louder.

Knitting her brow, Aeris rose and went to open the door. "Reno? . . . Marla--?"

The hallway stood empty. Aeris was about to turn back when she noticed the door to the left--the door that led to "her" room--stood ajar a thin crack. She went to it and pushed, slightly, watching the heavy oak door slide soundlessly on well-oiled hinges. A rectangle of light and her own shadow cut into the gloom. Ghostly dustsheets reflected back a little light.

"Hello?"

A hand shot out from the darkness, dragging her into the room, and another hand clamped over her mouth before Aeris had a chance to draw breath.

* * *

Author's Note:  
In other news, the fanfiction bot has utterly crumped out on me. (You know-- not sending alerts, not sending PMs. Not working.) So, if you have PMed me and have not recieved a response, that's probably why. If you want to reach me, the email address on my profile page will get to me alright.

To My Anon Reviewers:  
Xan- Aw, come on! Such a pessimist! It's a sweet widdol innocent and a deranged megalomaniac, what could go wrong?

Vinnie-- Wow, I'm really glad I got your creativity going! But, man, if you want to see all _that_, you'll have to write your own spinoff . . . ;-D  
Btw, sorry to disappoint, but I'm quite fond of the idea of Sephiroth having a baby girl. And liking it. In fact, I've written some as-yet unpublished scraps about just such a scenario . . .


	16. Resistance

"Aeris," Lyssa's voice was gentle, "It's us, Lyssa and Jonathan."

The hand over her mouth relaxed and Aeris found she could breathe again. She struggled out of the grip that held her--Jonathan's, apparently, and drew herself up to her full height, glaring at the two spies who worked in the palace as servants.

"What do you mean by this?" Her voice had an imperial, regal tone to it that sounded harsh and unfamiliar in her own ears.

_Just because Sephiroth has me wound around his little finger, doesn't mean everyone else does, too._

"Shh!" Lyssa gestured for her to keep quiet.

"What's the matter?" Aeris asked, although she asked more quietly. "I thought you would have already cleared the bugs from this room."

"We did, but there are bugs in the hall. Sensitive ones," Jonathan said.

"I see."

_Oh gods, I sound like Sephiroth! _

Perhaps Jonathan thought the same thing, because he narrowed his brown eyes. "I think you know why we've come. We can tell you how to help--if you'll agree to it. Here's this--" He tossed a camera to the dust-clothed couch in front of him. "If you still need convincing."

Reluctantly, Aeris reached for it.

How could it be that she hadn't thought through the answer she needed to give these two? Part of her had hoped they would never come back-- they and their proof of Sephiroth's madness.

Dismally, she switched the camera on, and watched the video loop.

Blackened wreckage. Male and female corpses twisted in various poses of pain and despair.

A city in flames.

A woman on her knees, crying, begging the SOLDIERs to save her baby.

Sephiroth's impassive face lit by the flickering glow of burning buildings. Almost as an afterthought, he slammed Masamune through the back of her neck. The woman crumpled.

Aeris jerked away.

She realized she was panting, shaking.

_In another Cycle, he killed me. Very much like this. _

"Well in _this _Cycle, Sephiroth has to be stopped," Lyssa said. Had she spoken aloud? "We all know that this whole regime would topple without him. The Resistance would step in in a minute if he were out of the way."

"Is something holding you back?" Jonathan's voice wavered between kindness and steel. "You're not one of those girls with Cinderella fantasies are you? I would hope it would take more than a few dresses and earrings for you to forget _he isn't even human_. If you doubt it, watch the whole video! He proves it again and again!" He paused, staring hard at Aeris. "If he's so keen on bedding you, _you're _the one in control-- that's why we approached you in the first place! But something's changed since we talked last, hasn't it? . . . You don't honestly think you're in _love_, do you? Not with that _thing_."

Aeris didn't answer.

_Planet seems to think I am. Planet seems to think we're bound together by some destiny greater than either of us._

"Look, it's not like we're asking you to kill him." Lyssa broke in. "We're not even to asking you to hurt him. Just--find some things out for us. We need to know his plans for Nibelheim-- the exact day of his attack. And he has a mole working with us-- we _need_ to know who it is. Anything would help."

Aeris looked away.

His face--silvered by moonlight, softened with sleep.

The woman watching her baby burn.

"I'll see what I can do."

Lyssa nodded, and Jonathan looked at her approvingly. "We knew we could trust you. We heard wonderful things about you from Avalanche. We'll be in touch."

Aeris' answering smile hurt her face.

Lyssa opened a window, where a climbing wire led up to the roof. "Bolt the window behind us, alright? We're not supposed to be here." She winked as she disappeared onto the roof.

Jonathan hesitated before following his partner into the pink dawn.

"But if you change your mind about how far you're willing to go, I want you to have this." He pressed a little vial of black, syrupy liquid into her hand. "We use it to fight Shinra-made monsters. It reacts with mako-enhanced cell-structures, but it doesn't effect anyone natural. You could rub it on you--anywhere, and if he got enough on him or in him--" He gestured for her to fill in the blank. "There isn't any pain." A flicker of his eyelid made Aeris doubt the last statement, and he quickly added, "I know you'll do the right thing, Aeris."

Then he was gone.

* * *

Sephiroth sat alone, his features veiled in shadow, slowly rolling a finely-wrought silver pen between his fingers. 

The only sound was the "tick, tick" of a transmitter. A transmitter attached to a bug that this "Jonathan" had missed.

Mako-green eyes burned in the gloom.

"So, Venificulla, _that _is your game, is it?" he snarled. "Well, two can play."

_Two can play-- at that._

The silver pen screeched in protest-- and snapped in two.


	17. Lyssa

"You were _supposed _to _bring her back_!"

"General Cloud, sir, I'm sorry, but there just wasn't time," Lyssa said. She hung her head, and her brown hair hid her face.

"Wasn't time?" Barrett roared. "There was time enough for you to slip her some _dyteria_!"

Lyssa's head jerked up, her features paling.

"Time enough for you to risk getting her _killed_," Yuffie added.

_So, she was hoping we wouldn't notice the vast discrepancy between her report and the listening device we planted on her._

It had been Red XIII's idea to spy on the spies. Cloud hadn't expected it to yield results so quickly.

Jonathan jutted his chin out defiantly. "You were _watching _us?"

"That's right, fool! And a good thing, too! Why didn't you just hack off her head and save Lord Long-Hair the trouble?" Barrett's mechanical arm twitched, wanting to transform into a gun.

"Alright, it's true," Jonathan was unrepentant. "Lyssa and I disobeyed _orders_-- because _you_ want to ruin the best opportunity we've had to get rid of Sephiroth in _five years_. He's always been careful to pick bedmates we couldn't trust-- and now, when he finally slips, you want to throw the chance away! I don't know who you are or what you're trying to, but what I _do _know is this: you show up and Agrenschall dies, you take power and the first thing you try to do is take a girl-- who is _willingly _working with us-- away from the one position where she can _do something_! The Resistance will _thank _us for disobeying you!"

Cid and Barrett both took a step toward the spy.

"Those are fighting words where I come from," Cid snarled, spear at the ready.

"And that _bedmate _happens to be our _friend_!" Even Tifa was angry now, her dark eyes flashing.

"That isn't all," Vincent stepped forward: a red shadow slinking into the light. His gold claw clicked on the screen of the device he held. "I have a transmission of yours here, Lyssa, which I took the liberty of uploading. Exactly why did you feel the need to send a message to the palace entitled: 'To Lord Sephiroth: Urgent.'?"

All eyes turned to the lithe woman, still dressed as one of the palace maids.

Now it was Jonathan's turn to stare at Lyssa. "What-- you--"

Pieces fell into place.

Lyssa, not Jonathan, had helped them get an audience with Agrenschall, only to have him die during their scheduled meeting time. If the SOLDIERs hadn't attacked, the entire Resistance would have suspected Avalanche.

Lyssa had urged Jonathan to contact Aeris, asking her to help the Resistance. A loyalty test from Sephiroth-- or a trap from a jealous lackey. And now… now the double agent had sent a message to her Lord.

_Gods! Aeris!_

For a moment, the members of Avalanche only stared-- understanding dawning on them one at a time. It was Jonathan who lunged for her first, but Lyssa was quicker. A pistol whipped out-- and she shot him in the face.

"Sorry, old friend," she said, but she was smiling as she turned and bolted.

* * *

After a notably apathetic attempt at catching the retreating terrorists, Sephiroth had finally reached the palace, where he found Reno and Rude waiting for him. 

"Is she safe?" He kept his voice steady.

"Uh . . . Yes, m'lord, but . . ."

"Get out of my way."

"Sir, you need to see this."

He glanced at them in irritation, then down at the transmitter Rude held out to him. Green electronic writing marked it as a report from Lyssa: "To Lord Sephiroth: Urgent."

Lyssa, he knew, had been preparing a special report of her own choosing-- following her hunches to catch some of the palace staff in acts of treachery. She was a good operative-- careful and thorough-- and had taken credit for Agrenschall'sdeath. Her weaknesses were that she was also impulsive and vindictive-- going out of her way to find incriminating evidence on those she disliked. He had not ordered Agrenschall's assassination-- in fact, he would have preferred to keep that weak, conniving leader around a little longer, but Lyssa seemed desperate to impress him of late.

He snorted and snatched the device from Rude's hand. Unexpected delays were always the worst.

As the report began playing, Reno cleared his throat. "Sir, um, if you don't need us-- we'll be just outside."

Sephiroth's eyes snapped up to the Turk. Only then did he notice the pallor of the red-haired man's face, and the way Rude shifted his weight apprehensively.

_They don't want to be in arm's reach when I hear this . . . What the hell does it _say?

An unfamiliar sense of foreboding tugged at him. Sephiroth was a creature of observation and action-- not instinct, but for a brief instant he wanted nothing so much as to delete the entire missive without hearing it.

He let the Turks leave without a word and sat down slowly-- listening.

He was braced for ill tidings, but of everything he expected, of everything he feared-- this was worse.

_It can't be. It _can't _be._

But it was.

As he picked a sliver of silver out of his palm, he thought, _Well Lyssa, you found something _this_ time . . . damn you straight to hell_.

For an irrational moment, he hated her as if she, not Aeris, had betrayed him, as if _she_ were the one plotting to kill him. He shook the thought away, only to have it replaced by the memory of Aeris' voice promising to aid the Resistance-- and her silent acceptance of the poison . . .

_She could have said she loved me last night. That would have been natural enough._

_Now I know why she didn't._

His eyes narrowed until they were nothing but green, glowing slits.

* * *

Author's Note: I know a lot of you hate me for the direction this story is taking, but I am trying to create an intellectually honest portrait of a love between an uncompromisingly good woman and a pitilessly warped villain. It will not be an easy road, nor will it come naturally to either of them. This ain't no Clifa. Ain't no Yuffietine, neither. This is a no-holds-barred Aeriseph. And my Sephiroth is not misunderstood. He thinks, reasons, and acts like a villain. So **Warning: Raging Angst-Fest **Ahead. 

To my anon reviewers:  
Elegy: Thanks! You really made my day. XD I'll have to check out "Fallen" too. . .And yes, I fully intend to finish this, barring some hideous maiming accident to my person. I feel like I've promised to-- like, from the title. Besides, here would be a particularly nasty spot to leave off. I usually try to update about once a week. Sometimes I'm early. Sometimes I'm late.

Xan: Oh, wow! How did you know I was feeling discouraged? You don't know how much your encouragement meant to me these last couple weeks. True to form, my hyper-emotionality has swung to the dark side of the pendulum, and these days I am suffering an acute case of "I can't write. No one loves me. Why did I ever think I could do this?" syndrome. So anyway, thanks again!


	18. If You Are Not For Me

**Disclaimer**: I've been remiss with my disclaimers, but I still don't own any of the characters, places, etc. The work that went into the story, though, is all me.

To my anon reviewers:  
Xan: Thanks for the encouragement, I really needed it. XD  
Hope I made what's going on clear. . .

* * *

In a flash, Lyssa weighed her options. Avalanche was closing in on her-- fierce fighters every one of them. 

She had the advantage of being more familiar with Resistance headquarters than these newcomers were, and she knew of an escape route not far away.

_Still, better think and _run_ at the same time._

With a few shots of covering fire, Lyssa vaulted over a handrail and ran down a banister.

_Damn! I should have worn my other shoes. _

The ones she wore clanged horribly on the metal scaffolding of the reactor's innards, giving away her position with every step. All Avalanche was after her: she could hear them clattering down the stairs. That hideous one-eyed cat was fastest, but the chesty girl was close behind, leaping from wall to wall as she descended, so she did not need to use the stairs.

_Where's Cloud? Maybe I can still circle back and get him._

_Two Resistance leaders in a week plus, with the way I've rigged the explosives, I should be able to destroy the entire base. _That _ought to impress Lord Sephiroth._

That _ought to give me another chance._

She had been next in line, she was sure of it. Once he tired of Sandria, it was _her _turn. She'd had everything ready: the underthings, the hushed words, the dyteria. A few wild nights-- then a taste of poison, and all Midgar would be hers. All her lovers-- including, and perhaps especially Jonathan-- had been practice for that victory.

But, without warning, Sephiroth got moodier and more sullen than ever--then offered two million gil for a little green-eyed bitch he'd had to practically drag into bed with him. Lyssa knew-- now-- that he thought about this girl often. Whenever the pressures of politics harassed him, he would stare out the window-- always toward the same point to the west. When he'd had Midgar's plate removed, he'd forced the construction teams to comb the barren western plains-- driving them crazy because he hadn't told them what to look for.

Now, when he watched Aeris in the gardens beneath his west-facing windows, it was with the same half**-**abstracted, half-hungry look he always directed toward the horizon.

Lyssa darted around a corner, and risked a few shots behind her before racing down the corridor.

At first glance, she had assumed the green-eyed girl was only a minor setback. Sephiroth would tire of her within a few days. But then he slept with her-- literally-- and allowed her to fill the western gardens with _tineric_. Why didn't he just let her plait daisies in his hair?

The winds were changing, and Lyssa knew she had to move fast. Everything about the way he treated this little slut was-- different-- and Lyssa had no intention of waiting for months (or years) until he tired of his new toy.

_Damn!_

Why did he have to pick the one moment just before she was ready to strike? It was almost as if some cosmic force were watching out for him. Even her plot to trap Aeris had backfired. Jonathan, without discussing the matter, gave away the vial of dyteria that Lyssa had painstakingly obtained through trickery and theft. Now she would have to find a poison more potentially harmful to herself when Sephiroth came to her for comfort after Aeris' betrayal.

_That is, if I make it out of here alive._

* * *

He flung open the window of his chamber and the cold wind rushed into the room. Aeris jumped to her feet and whirled to face him, looking guilty. 

_Dyteria._

Dyteria was the only poison that matched Jonathan's description. Jonathan had neglected to inform her that dyteria, while not expressly harmful to those without mako-enhancements, darkened any skin it touched, leaving a patch like a birthmark. If she had used it, it would not have had time to completely stain her skin, but still, whatever she rubbed it on would appear bruised.

And Jonathan had lied, too. There _would _be pain if he died of dyteria poisoning-- vomiting and bleeding from his eyes and ears as the exposed skin bubbled and blackened. _He _should know.

"Aeris. Undress."

His words invited no argument, no discussion. Still she said, "Sephiroth? What's wrong?"

"Do it!" he snapped.

She was wearing a pink dress with a little beaded jacket, simple and elegant and perfectly _her_.

_Don't let it affect you._

Aeris set her jaw stubbornly and drew herself up to her full height, "Sephiroth, _tell _me--"

Masamune flashed out and the garment fell away in two pieces, followed by her underthings.

Aeris gasped and tried to cover herself with her hands.

"Turn."

She obeyed, but emotions--fear and outrage, primarily--warred for precedence in her face. He tried to view her with clinical detachment, searching for any telltale dyteria marks, but he could not help also noticing the way her nipples tightened in the cold air, the sloping curve of her waist, the auburn triangle between her hips.

_Don't let it affect you!_

At least she was clean. Her treachery did not extend to assassination attempts-- not yet.

Masamune still rested in his hand and he used the steel tip to close the window behind him. Aeris shivered.

_And when a woman is cold--you hold her._

For a moment, she looked like she would try to run, but he pulled her roughly to him, clamping her against his breast, and pressed his lips to hers--far more gently than he had intended. She struggled, squirming titillatingly against his body, then, with a shuddering sigh, her eyes closed, her head tilted back and the kiss deepened.

* * *

If Aeris had been able to see behind her during that gentle, savoring kiss, she would have seen their intertwined forms reflected in the gilt vanity. And the green light of his eyes, still open as he kissed her, blazing with passion-- and rage. 


	19. Fortune, Like the Moon

Disclaimer: Square Enix owns Sephiroth, Aeris/Aerith, all of Avalanche, and the whole FFVII world.**  
**

**Author's Note:** Three things:  
First, a big "Thankees!" to everyone who reviewed. I was realizing this week how incredibly spoilt I am as a writer to have people come back to this story every week or so. (I write this especially to Elegy and Xan, whom I have no other way of contacting.)  
Second, some people have told me that the last few chapters have been confusing, and if that's the case for you, I would appreciate feedback on what threw you-- for a possible future rewrite. (Do bear in mind, though, that this is meant to be read all at once, not in weekly thousand-word installments.) I would also like to hear from you if you _haven't _been confused, because heaven forbid I do work that isn't absolutely necessary.  
Lastly, in the next couple of chapters, Sephiroth exhibits some of his less-than-exemplary character traits. I just want to say upfront that I don't condone such behavior and that if any guy acts like he does here, I think you should cut and run like the gates of hell are opening behind you. They probably are . . . The story is the way it is because Seph's got some spazoid anger-management problems and right now he's burn-down-the-nearest-town _pissed off. _Remember, this is the guy who tried to work through his Mommy-issues via planetary destruction.

* * *

Lyssa, barefoot now, raced across the scaffolding, ignoring the way the cold metal bit into her with every step. She lost the fighters-- running first down several flights of stairs, then doubling back. Now she was on one of the uppermost walkways-- which hung suspended over a series of pipes and the empty mako-vat. Doubtless this "Avalanche" had all gone crying to the Resistance guards, who were incompetent, novice-soldiers at best.

_Now if I could just get Cloud. _

She kept her eyes open for any spikey gold amid the pipes and steel below her.

_Nothing. _

_Oh, well._

Incompetent guards or no, she still needed to make good her escape, and only two corridors away was the makeshift hangar where a few helicopters and the _Shera_ waited.

_If I could take the _Shera . . .

Lyssa never finished the thought.

"There!" The voice was Tifa's.

"I see her!" The short, bony girl answered.

To Lyssa's right, a column secured two scaffoldings and the skinny little ninja was already running straight up the vertical pillar. Lyssa turned to run back the way she had come, but Yuffie sprang free of the column, somersaulting in the air, and landed ahead of her.

The shuriken bit into her arm, and Lyssa nearly dropped her pistol-- but instead she drove her unhurt elbow into Yuffie's face. The ninja stumbled backward and Lyssa planted a solid kick on her chest. Yuffie pitched over the handrailing-- nothing but air between her and the floor, hundreds of feet below. Lyssa fired after her, her aim unsteady because of her injured arm, but Yuffie saw the shots coming, and, even as she fell, she both twisted out of the way-- and flung her weapon.

Lyssa screamed as the shuriken found its mark-- the sharp edge slicing into her left shoulder, pinning her to the pillar. When she fired again, it was random, furious-- a hail of bullets meant to hit the ninja-- anywhere-- as she fell.

But none of them did.

A swirling red vortex sprang from one of the lower scaffoldings, bounding off handrailings and pipes, ascending as it jumped. It formed a red curtain between Lyssa and the falling Wutaian princess, and whirled twice, firing three bright gunshots, then vanished into a side passage-- taking Yuffie with it. Lyssa, meanwhile, yanked the shuriken free of her shoulder, and she used it to shield herself. Two shots deflected, but the third hit her injured gunarm. She screamed again, and dropped her pistol, which bounced on the metal grating and tumbled-- end over end-- to a scaffolding beneath her.

Bleeding badly now, Lyssa vaulted after it, landing heavily on her hands and knees. Tifa was waiting for her. The black-haired girl's foot connected with the spy's ribs. Tifa kept her body straight as she did a 360 degree backflip-kick which sent Lyssa over the handrail.

The double agent pitched through the air, banging on pipes and beams all the way down. Her right arm and left shoulder were both bleeding from shuriken cuts, so every time she tried to catch herself, pain and slippery blood prevented her from finding a handhold. She landed on the metal floor and lay still, labored breathing coming through bloody lips.

She heard a "clump" as feet landed beside her. Someone had jumped down from one of the scaffoldings above. Lyssa, shaking, pushed herself to her hands and knees. Pain in her side let her know she had broken several things and her arm, which she had landed on, hurt like the devil. Still, she managed to get to her knees-- and raise her eyes to the man before her.

Crystal blue eyes regarded her coldly. The buster sword was out, its point inches from her neck.

_Slowly, no sudden movements._

She had a short wakizashi secured at her calf, but she would have to play things very carefully if she was going to be able to use it.

"General Cloud . . . Sir . . . We can work something out . . ." She accentuated the wobble in her voice, making herself sound even more frail and helpless than she actually was. "I have information . . ."

"Once a spy, always a spy," he answered.

"Well said," she replied softly as her hand closed around the wakazashi's handle.

But her blade never left its sheath because suddenly there was not one sword, but a dozen-- all in a ring of biting blue fire. Once, twice, again-- the swords ran her through. Cloud had vanished, becoming only a blur of blades, slicing through her so quickly she had no time even to register the pain.

Only when blood burbled to her lips did she realize that she was finished.

Cloud was in front of her now, scowling, and she grinned up at him: a crimson grin.

"Don't think you've saved her," she managed. "She's as good as dead-- I've made sure of it. And so . . . are _you_."

At the last word, her fingers went to a ring on her index finger-- a ring with a single, red gem.

Too late, Cloud recognized it for what it was-- a detonator.

A rending explosion shook the building.

* * *

Sephiroth broke the kiss slowly and pressed her tighter against him. 

"You have such pretty lips." He ran a finger across them, but halted partway through the caress.

_What are you doing? She's a lying whore!_

He tore away from her as if she'd scalded him.

She was nothing but a common harlot to be used for common purposes. And yes, he wanted to sully and shame her, to see her pure, angelic flesh groveling in submission, bound by lust-- or pain.

_To ruin her._

There was a kind of liberation in thinking this way. Since her arrival, she had fogged his head with weak thoughts. Now, his mind turned back to dark, familiar paths.

"Where were we?" he asked, face impassive.

"You were telling me about yourself," Aeris said defiantly. Her wide eyes snapped with anger, clear and green as a flashing sea.

Sephiroth glared. The memory of that morning, more beautiful than any morning of his life, slid into him and twisted.

"Well?" She folded her arms across her breasts. "Shouldn't you start explaining?"

"Should I?" he spat, "Or should I tell you about _Nibelheim_?"

Her angry expression slid away. Realization shone in her eyes, and with it, fear.

_Yes, she knows that I _know.

* * *

A cough. 

Cloud could hardly see anything through the settling dust and ash, but he recognized the cough.

"Tifa! Tifa are you alright?"

Chips of rubble and dust whitened her black leather clothes, and he was beside her in an instant.

Tifa's hand went to her forehead. "I'm ok. Just dizzy." The mahogany eyes opened, but her brave smile died on her lips. "Cloud, your leg!"

A piece of metal shrapnel was lodged in his thigh, and blood dripped down into his boot. He hadn't even noticed it, but now pain came-- sharp throbs shooting through him.

"Woo-wee! Did _that _get her?" This came from Yuffie, who was bouncing her way between the crumbling remains of piping, walls, and scaffolding.

A metallic creak and groan echoed behind her as if in answer.

"We need to get out of here. This building won't hold much longer," Vincent said, materializing beside him. It occurred to Cloud that he hadn't worried at all about the ragged man's safety. Vincent had a way of taking care of himself.

Yuffie supporting Tifa and Vincent supporting Cloud, they made their way into the sunlight, where-- to Cloud's relief-- they found a few Resistance guards, along with Barrett, Cid, Cait Sith, and Red XIII.

Cid, Red and Cait had gone to the _Shera_'s hangar in an attempt to head Lyssa off. Barrett-- a man who both angered and forgave easily-- had stayed behind with Jonathan.

"Something didn't smell right when we got to the hangar," Red explained, "and I remembered that Lyssa helped us arrange our explosive stockpile. We managed to disable a few of them, but most have been destroyed, I'm afraid, and even the _Shera_ took some damage."

"Jonathan didn't make it, either," Barrett said, "Why the hell did she have kill him anyway? He was her _friend_."

"Spies don't have friends," Cloud replied.

_But something doesn't add up. Sure, she probably killed him just because he was closest to her-- but she was meticulous. Crafty. Could there have been another reason? _

Tifa must have noticed his expression, because she asked, "Cloud, are you ok?"

"Yeah, fine," he said. "It's just--She was smiling to the end. Like she knew something we didn't."

"Killing Jonathan was a clever move on her part." The former Turk still had the ability to admire a worthy adversary. "Now we have no contacts in the palace."

_And our diversion was costly-- all our plans will be delayed until we can get more explosives. How long will that be? Days? Weeks? Until then…_

_Aeris is on her own.  
_

* * *

_He's going to kill me._

She remembered the cold pain of the swordstroke in that other Cycle, and took an unconscious step backward.

For a moment, he only stood-- murder shining in his vivid mako eyes. Then he lunged at her, swift as a striking snake, catching her by the shoulders.

"Say you're not working for them! Say it isn't true! Say it isn't!"

His voice rose to a scream, his fingers dug into her flesh, and his glowing gaze blazed down at her, but she saw-- pain-- in the demon's eyes.

_He's begging me to lie to him._

A wave of sorrow began in the soles of her feet and washed upward-- through her stomach, her heart, until it pricked the back of her eyes.

_Oh gods, I never meant to hurt you. But I couldn't just let you destroy an entire town. I _couldn't.

"It's true, Sephiroth," she whispered.

"You little _bitch_!"


	20. Iram et Dolorem

Disclaimer: Square Enix owns Final Fantasy and everything that originated therein. I don't.

Title Translation: Rage and Sorrow

* * *

"You little _bitch_!" He seized her hair, forcing her face up. "You fucking whore! What did they pay you? What did they promise you? Was it _money_?" 

His white face had gone whiter with wrath. He flung her away from him and she gave a little cry as she hit the ground. He wrenched a velvet-lined drawer free from a desk and threw the contents at her. A collection of diamonds sparkled and flared as they caught the light, raining down on her and rattling on the hardwood.

"Was it _power_?"

Another drawer and a shower of coins--all in larger increments than most people dared carry-- clattered around her. She flung an arm over her face, and barely dodged the drawer as it hurtled past her into the wall.

"Or was it something else? Did _Cloud_ say he'd fuck you if you did this to me? I'll _kill you both_!"

"Sephiroth, stop it!"

He wasn't even making sense now, and part of him knew it, but rage blinded him, suffocated him.

He seized her by the wrists and threw her to the bed, pinning her arms under his. He kissed her: a cruel kiss. Aeris twisted her face away and he pressed his mouth to her ear. "Tell me you love me." The shaky whisper was all menace. "Tell me you _love _me-- _DAMN you_!"

She kept her face turned away, her breath quick and trembling-- but she stayed silent.

How he wanted to strike her. To feel that pretty nose crack under his fist, listen to her ribs snapping. And take her, take her violently, again and again. Not for passion, not for pleasure, but to hurt her, hurt her, hurt her, as deeply as she had--

He forced the thoughts away.

"_I_ could have made you a _queen_." He meant it as a threat, but his voice quivered slightly, then cracked on the last word and he could say no more.

With an effort of will, he unclenched the hands around her wrists and pulled himself off her.

Maybe, if he hadn't lain with her, if he hadn't spent the past two days watching her, feeling a connectedness he'd never known, maybe then he could have let the fury devour him.

But even then it might well have cost him his soul.

Her eyes, when they met his, were maddeningly soft-- she who had more reason than anyone, living or dead, to fear him.

Instead, she looked--sad. Was it remorse?

Or pity?

There it was again.

That song inside her: he felt it like a pressure in the side of his head. That true, essential part of her that he had first wanted to destroy, then possess--and now wanted only to forget. Her centered, calm assurance meant he would never be able to break her.

That should enrage him. That should make him tear her apart.

If it had been anyone else, it would have.

But Aeris--

He could still see her in his mind's eye, brilliant mako hair streaming around her face, mingling with his own pallid white.

Another image flashed before him, achingly clear.

They were seated on a narrow metal bench, and a circular window beside them showed starlight outside. He felt the close-mouthed kiss, almost adolescent in its innocence, on his own lips.

The vision cleared and Aeris was shaking her head slightly as if dismissing a trance.

_Sometimes I can see the Lifestream . . . It doesn't only connect the living with the dead and back again, but also other mirror realities. Other Turns of the Cycle._

_Am I seeing what she sees now, too?_

He gritted his teeth.

_Damn you, Aeris, how could you do _any_ of this to me?_

He touched the button hidden on the headboard, sending a silent alarm. Reno and Rude burst in a second later, leveling their weapons on invisible enemies while they averted their eyes from Aeris' nakedness. He could tell by their ashen faces and the slight tremble in Reno's weapon hand that they had heard him yelling.

Sephiroth never, not even in his most violent moods, raised his voice. On the rare occasions when he swore, it was with contempt or annoyance, not fury. Their lord could crush whoever needed crushing with a wave of his hand, or with Masamune. He never had reason to scream.

"Take her to cell seventeen." He straightened, and turned to face out the window, clenching his hands at his sides. "I want her publicly executed-- three days from now."

"Sephiroth!" The voice was clear: church bells and angel-song. He could see her reflection in the window, nude body dragging between Reno and Rude. The Turks paused when she spoke. "Who told you?"

He considered ignoring her.

_Let her writhe_.

But he heard his own voice saying, "My agent. Lyssa Cedsen."

The honey-brown head lifted at the sound of the name. "Then… it was all a trap . . .?"

"And one you walked into _eagerly enough_." He spoke to the ground outside his window.

"I won't make excuses, alright? I just want you to understand . . . It's what I _am_, Sephiroth. Something bright in me opposes something dark in you. And that brightness is what I _am_. It's _who_ I am. I could not see what I saw, and do nothing, and still be _what __I am_ . . . And, I think, what I am-- drew you, if only for a day."

He kept his back to her, chest still heaving with anger. Then, with a curt flick of his wrist, he gestured her away.

* * *

The Turks paused in the hall and let her get to her feet. Rude looked like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. 

Someone came running toward them, and Aeris turned to see Marla, carrying a dressing gown. As she approached, the maid silently held out the robe.

The two women's eyes met, and Aeris felt her own fill with tears. She had born all Sephiroth's rage with a tremulous dignity, but kindness broke her where anger never could. When Marla's arms went around her, she buried her face in the older woman's shoulder and wept.

* * *

_Look at you. You really thought you meant something to her, didn't you? You really thought there was a place for you. _Hojo's voice laughed. _You're amazing. I bet you thought it would last, too. You honestly believed _she _could fall for _you_. Didn't I always tell you-- all you're made for, all you'll ever be good for-- is slaughter? _

He did not know how long he stood there, staring out at the shadowed gardens, gardens _she_ had worked in only the day before. For one afternoon, whenever the terrorists or politics were troubling him, he could look out at her and be soothed.

_Gods, Aeris, what didn't I give you? What more did you want? _

_Aeris . . . _why?

His eyes stung and his vision blurred. The pain in his chest was worse-- a deep, rending sensation-- but he ignored it, preferring to think of her fingertips tracing lines of dyteria down his face.

Her feathery caresses still burned him.

Something slipped down his cheek and when he brushed it away, he discovered moisture. The tear glinted on his finger like crystal, and he watched the way it caught the light before touching it to his mouth, wiping the wet bead across his lip.

_Let it end the way it began. Let me taste my own loneliness. And forget the flavor of _her.

Three days. He had chosen the number out of the air. Three days and the sweet insanity she brought with her would end.

* * *

A blonde woman watched from behind a pillar as Aeris finally released Marla, and let the Turks lead her away. "Tired of her already, m'lord?" Sandria murmured, fingering the packet she had gotten from a maid. "Let's make sure things stay that way." 


	21. Second Sight

"Um . . . there's one other thing, m'lord." 

The bony, balding man, Rojel by name, looked as if he wanted to wring his hands, but the noteboard he held prevented him. Sephiroth had a brief mental image of the thin, shiny-pated Rojel seated at a long table, being served dinner by a muscular Wutain woman-- and a half-dozen muscular, shiny-pated children.

For the past two days, he had occasionally sensed, dimly, other mirror realities. Pragmatic as he was, he used the occasional flashes to give himself insights into the minds of those around him: knowing what they _might _have been often told him what the _were_.

Apparently, Rojel's managerial skills could have been used to strengthen a village-- or a large family.

"Yes, what?" Sephiroth snapped.

"It's about the prisoner in cell seventeen-- I've just gotten word that the terrorists have been using her-- er, situation-- to stir up some bad PR for you. First the reward was never awarded and now-- well, some photographs of her current condition have leaked to the public--"

"Her 'current condition'?"

"Well, uh, she's ill and she hasn't been eating, sir. In fact, she hasn't touched a thing since she arrived."

"Why." It was less of a question than an accusation.

"She's had food, my lord! All your orders were carried out! But she won't eat--"

"Bring her to me."

Rojel seemed to hesitate.

"Well?"

"She is-- very ill, m'lord. She musn't be moved, if you mean for her to-- uh, recover."

_Recover enough to be executed tomorrow? Or is Rojel implying, diplomatically, that her death sentence is a mistake?_

Sephiroth's brows contracted. "I'll see to it. Anything else?"

"No, your lordship."

"Dismissed."

Sephiroth sat back in his chair.

_Oh, Aeris. Must you make this harder than it needs to be?_

_Or is this just another ploy?_

Of course, he, also, hadn't eaten since he'd ordered Aeris' arrest. Everything had been put on hold: the repositioning of his troops, the deciding of local disputes . . . the razing of Nibelheim.

He hadn't slept, either. Had not even returned to his sleeping quarters.

His rooms lay untouched just as he had left them, all but hermetically sealed at the end of their corridor: a shattered dream left to gather dust. He thought of the cold sheets in the unmade bed, the uncleared breakfast tray, the diamonds and gil pockmarking the floor-- and the vial of dyteria, still resting wherever she had hidden it.

Over the past days, he told himself --repeatedly-- that the real reason he refused food and sleep was to preserve the unusual ability she had unwittingly given him. His innate aestheticism led him to believe that hunger and sleep-deprivation were good fodder for visions.

It wasn't the whole truth, though.

He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and middle finger.

_Gods. Twenty hours. Twenty hours and she'll mount the scaffold._

In the days since Aeris' arrest, no one had dared broach the subject of the prisoner in the seventeenth cell to him. Well, no one but Marla, whom he'd promptly discharged.

_Aeris must be badly off, then._

_What could have happened that photographs of her reflect poorly on my leadership?_

Glee edged Hojo's voice. _And just what do you think _you're _going to do about it, you sorry little shit? Go visit her? _That _I'd _love _to see._

Sephiroth picked up the report he'd been reading, and scanned it without seeing it. Instead, words from his youth came back to him:

_Rule 17-C of the Shinra Command Training Manual-- 'A leader is the prisoner of his word.' And I said she dies. So she's already dead. _

_And the dead don't need to be comfortable, or comforted._

"_But the living do."_

The voice was dim, barely audible, but it surprised him. Not because it wasn't his thought, but because it also wasn't Hojo's. Feminine, but not Jenova's. _This_ voice reminded him of-- Aeris.

Was it just his imagination?

It couldn't be. It was so_-- foreign. _

_Foreign but familiar . . . An Ancient's voice._

Even hearing a voice like hers salted the wound in his chest. _She _could sing him to sleep. _She _could show him himself, kindly, with a single turn of a phrase.

Soon, too soon, her voice would be silenced.

"_Listen."_

Two mental images leapt into his mind in rapid succession. In the first, he sat, shirtless, in a sunny field. Aeris was with him, mud streaking one of her cheeks, smiling and chattering away while her deft fingers wove blooms over Masamune-- using the sword, now half-buried in the dirt, as a trellis. She said something to him, and he threw his head back and laughed. All around them were poppies and periwinkle, honeysuckle and heather, tulips and tineric. Roses. Jasmine. Foxglove. And lilies-- always lilies.

That Sephiroth leaned back on his elbows: a white blot amid the riotous profusion of color. Aeris bent over and kissed his cheek, and he felt the light, warm pressure on his own face.

She got mud on him, but he didn't mind.

It was lovely, not minding . . .

The other image was of snow. He walked a few paces ahead of Aeris, his long, easy stride crunching through virgin drifts. He ignored the girl who floundered behind him, just as he ignored the flakes settling in his hair.

Aeris' scream split the snow-muffled tranquility.

_Right on time_.

The thought was his, and not his.

SOLDIERs burst from their hiding places, leaping from their positions to land in a ring around her.

"Sephiroth, help!" she cried.

But in that cold world, the coldest sound was Masamune ringing from its sheath.

Her wide eyes searched his: fear and betrayal and incredulity all washing over her features at once.

The SOLDIERs rushed her.

"Sephiroth, _help _me! _Please_!"

But this Sephiroth only smiled and winter light glinted off raised steel.

Red stained the snow.

* * *

The Lord of Midgar realized he was on his feet, sword in hand. 

_Relax_, he told himself. _Just more visions. Other Turns of the Cycle._

But _these_ images were sharper than any he'd previously experienced, and not triggered by any visual prompt. He had _smelled _the honeysuckle, _tasted_ the cold.

_Perhaps the visions are getting stronger._

_--Or perhaps visions of Aeris will always be clearer than any others._

He shook the thoughts away.

There was something wrong with his prisoner, and he had said he would see to it.

So he would, personally; Hojo's mockery be damned.

Not to hear his name on her lips.

Not because he needed to see her, one last time.

* * *

Note to Anon Reviewers:  
Xan: Wow! I'm really glad you could feel what they're both going through. :blush: You seem to really be anticipating misery and death for one or both of them . . . Kept you waiting a bit for this chap, though, didn't I? No particular reason-- just had more work than usual. 


	22. Trithbane

As he approached the cell, he toyed with the idea of taking her again. Something brutal and shaming to blot out the memory of that honeyed night when she had kissed him, opened for him.

But at the sight of that long, white hallway, unchanged despite the years, all such thoughts vanished.

_Why the hell did I put her _here?

There had to have been a hundred other places for her to await her fate. But he had been half-crazed with rage and acted without a plan, spurred by a bitter, reckless impulse.

_You don't _have _to be here, you know. You could order her brought upstairs-- her health won't do her much good _now_, one way or another._

But Aeris was not what kept him walking forward. Now, he explored the well-known hallway out of sheer, morbid curiosity. The hall was smaller than he remembered, and not quite as sharply white as the one he frequented so often in dark dreams. Of course, he had never seen the place as a grown man, nor ever expected to.

Then he saw the door to cell seventeen.

His mouth went dry. The scar along the inside of his elbow throbbed. His knees felt like cold water, slowing his pace. He would have stopped altogether and leaned against the wall, but he found he did not dare: too many years of being shuttled back and forth from the labs--

_Touch that wall again and you'll see what it means to be too weak to walk_.

His head pounded, and every rivet, every flaw in the smooth white walls stood out with nightmare clarity. The air was thick and frightened, too thick to breathe.

_I have to get out--!_

"M'lord!" The jailer was beside him, saluting sharply, but he forgot himself and took a step backward when he saw Sephiroth's face. Sephiroth hadn't even heard him approach.

"Open the cell."

"Yessir."

The door swung open to reveal a familiar white room. A rectangle of artificial daylight lit the floor. In the shadows against the wall, a mat lay on the floor, and on the mat, a figure. A cold plate lay beside her, untouched.

He did not want to go in. Hojo's voice was silent, but only because it did not need to say anything. Dark memories surrounded the place like a physical wall-- pushing him back.

"Leave the door open."

"M'lord."

The figure stirred, and for an instant, he half-expected to see a younger version of himself lying prone on the stiff mat.

But grass-green eyes met his, and the past disappeared.

_Oh, gods-- Aeris!_

Her skin was a ghastly, splotchy color, and dark circles blurred her eyes like bruises. He knew death when he saw it-- and it was not far away now.

Before he realized what he was doing, he was on his knees beside her, holding her hand-- which was clammy and cold, twitching spasmodically.

"Aeris? Can you hear me? What happened?"

"Sephiroth?" her voice cracked from disuse. "Sephiroth, please-- don't think what we had wasn't real--"

He resisted the urge to shake her.

How could she still talk about feelings now, when all their wordless promises were broken?

How was it possible to still find her so desirable?

_More than desirable._

_Beautiful._

He shook the thoughts away and picked up the plate, stirring the gray, gelatinous mush. As he did so, his eye fell on a little spot of color. A yellow rose bloomed in a chink between two bricks, and a hand-decorated tag around it read:

_With love, Marla._

Somehow, Aeris had managed to keep the cut flower alive.

Aeris followed his gaze. "Marla gave it to me," she croaked. "Don't be angry. She--"

"I'm not angry." _Surprised, though_. Marla had even more daring than he'd expected. How much of the household staff felt this way about her? "Aeris. Eat. Don't make this worse for yourself." He held the spoon out to her. "Get your strength back, then we'll talk."

"Can't . . . Poisoned."

_Little liar. Who would--?_

He narrowed his eyes at the gruel. It had a very faint saffron smell to it.

It should have no smell at all. No taste, either.

No one knew that better than he did; he grew up on the vile stuff.

_Trithbane?_

A prohibitively expensive poison, and one that did not blend particularly well with processed gruel. He brought the spoon to his nose to smell it again.

"Don't!" Aeris wheezed, putting her hand out to stop him. Apparently, she thought he was going to prove its safety by eating it himself.

Sephiroth noticed a hideous, purple-black rash on the inside of her elbow-- where she must have rubbed some on herself, testing it.

_Clever girl._

But even that slight contact with trithbane-laced food should have killed her by now. Her sturdy Cetra make-up saved her.

Barely.

_This would explain how wasted she looks._

Who would poison a condemned woman? Not Rojel, surely. The guards?

_. . . Sandria._

Shortly after he'd made Sandria his "official" mistress, he'd had a tryst with an ebony-skinned courtesan-- who promptly disappeared.

_I _wondered_ what happened to her._

Sephiroth stalked back to the open door and shoved the plate at the guard. He glowered at the man. Some_one _let Sandria get too close. Some_one _failed to see that Aeris was being treated well-- the poison was hard to detect, but not impossible. "Get Rojel. Tell him to bring me an antidote for trithbane, and a sedative. And food-- from _my _larder. Oh… and the imbeciles who first caught Aeris are to get a reward after all: a post at Nibelheim-- something that pays well and puts them in the line of fire a lot. And a personal assistant-- Landrin's secretary."

"Sandria, m'lord?"

"Exactly."

He knelt beside Aeris again. He almost said, "There now, everything will be alright." But he caught himself, because they both knew it wouldn't.


	23. Healing

Author's Note: Apologies for the unprecedented wait. I am in the middle of a move right now, and am currently updating from a computer stacked on top of a series of cardboard boxes: a temporary desk that threatens to be a great deal more temporary than I had in mind. I just thought I'd share that in case some of you find it amusing, and also to warn you that this chapter may need some tweaking. If you haven't gotten a review reply from me, the move is probably why.  
Also, if you're an anon reviewer or a regular reviewer tired of the unreliable bot, and you actually want an answer to your questions, please direct correspondence to the email address on my profile page. I'm still trying to check that now and again.  
Oh, and for those of you who didn't get the reference for what happened to Sandria, she's just been shipped off to a remote outpost with two bawdy, impoverished bounty hunters for company.  
Right, well, the story:

* * *

The worst was over. 

The antidote acted as a purgative, and for a while he had worried that her weakened frame was too far gone to benefit from the cure. He stayed with her himself during the critical hours, pressing cool, clean cloths to her forehead, covering her when her limbs shook.

He allowed no one else near her all through that night. Even the doctors he sent for had to stand in the door and diagnose from a respectful distance.

If someone let Sandria get too close, no one was trustworthy-- except himself. So no hands but his tended to her as she sweated and shivered and retched, drifting in and out of consciousness.

He pointedly avoided thinking about his own motivations. Occasionally, some sensible part of his mind berated him for spending an unreasonable amount of effort on someone who was about to die, but oddly enough, the voice was not Hojo's. Sephiroth wondered at his own freedom from fear.

Here, in the heart of Shinra's hell, Hojo seemed-- powerless.

At first he thought that caring for Aeris left him too busy to hear the mocking voices in his skull, but once the danger passed, he knew it wasn't the work.

It was _her_.

_Her_ presence drove the demons back.

It wasn't that he could not hear Hojo. That thin, slightly nasal voice still called him the usual expletives, still stabbed him with the usual syringes. But being near her . . . shielded him. She was so sharply real, so deeply alive-- even now-- she made the thousand little deaths of this room pale and fade. With her, all that was done to him became-- distant memories. Nothing more. He still remembered everything, but he did not _relive_ it.

Without even trying-- gods, she wasn't even _awake_-- she was healing him.

Even as he healed her.

The color was back in her cheeks, and she looked less terribly drawn. Cold sweat still dampened her forehead, but her breathing came more easily, and she had settled into a trusting sleep.

_And she will die at noon today by my command._

If he left now, she might not even remember that he had been here.

But he found he wanted her to know.

_I came for you. I came for these last, stolen hours._

He slid his arms beneath her and gathered her to him, cradling her like an infant. A pilfered embrace, and one that she would doubtless reject if she were awake. But she was not, and he had sent all the guards away. She stirred in her sleep, and nestled herself more closely against him, making him smile his twisted smile.

Perhaps she _did_ know, on some level, who held her. At least . . . he wanted to think so.

He brushed an auburn curl away from her face.

_There must be a way. She can't really be one of _them. _She _can't _be_._ She didn't use the dyteria-- gods only know what she did with it. She even tried to stop me when she thought I didn't understand about the trithbane-- hardly fitting behavior for an assassin. I can make her mine, somehow. I can make her swear loyalty to me-- only to me._

Was it just wishful thinking?

His mind demanded her death: his judgement was rational and just. But his heart . . . Somehow, without ever making a conscious decision, her death had become an impossibility for him.

An idea formed in his mind. A strange idea, and one that would never have occurred to him in any other setting.

_Yes, yes if she agreed to _that_, I could trust her. She would be just like Mother and me_,_ then, and I could keep her as my own . . ._

_. . . Only one drawback. I'll never know if she agreed just to save her neck. I'll never know if she really wants to be with me._

The thought made him feel hollow.

_Damn. Power can be so_ limiting

Still, it was the best he could hope for.

No, not the best. The best would be moments like these: when she slept pressed against him, all the fear and betrayal gone from her face. In her dreams, she still trusted him.

_Dream of _me_, my little pet._

She would wake soon, though, and he would make his proposition.

He worried his lower lip.

He had so little experience _asking _for things. In war, negotiations had been handled by others. And here-- in this room-- there had been nothing to ask for.

He thought of the other women he had bedded, content with jewelry or money or galas in their honor. They were simple creatures, simply kept, and he never felt obligated to make a request of them that was not tinged with threat.

_But not Aeris. _

_What does _she_ want?_

He found he had little to offer her, besides her life, which she showed a reckless disregard for._  
_

_Flowers? _

Perhaps, but they should cost me. He turned to stare up at the window, from which artificial sunlight poured through, wracking his scant botanical knowledge. He considered taking her up with him, up to that window ledge where he had always gone to think.

And suddenly, with a sickening chill, he knew what he could give her.

Part of him wanted to dismiss the idea outright as pure lunacy, but another, stronger voice said:

_It's perfect. It's a gift she'll treasure-- you know she will. And you'll never have a better time or place to offer it._

_It will let her know what she is swearing loyalty to, as well. And she _should_ know, before she accepts an offer like the one you want to make . . ._

_Give her your past, your story._

_Tell her what happened here. _

A nervous dread gripped him, a feeling that he had not experienced since the beginning of Wutai. He swallowed it.

_I can't tell her…That's stupid…A gift should be something tangible._

Twice more he forced the thought away, and tried to recall the name of some exotic bloom that suited her, but most of his knowledge came from field manuals. He knew which plants were edible. He did not know which were considered beautiful. Or were readily available in Midgar.

And all the while a soft, unfamiliar feeling worked through the unease knotting his gut. He _wanted_ to be known, at least by her.

_What's the worst that could happen? If she refuses me, she dies-- and she'll take my secrets to the grave._

He looked down at her sleeping face.

And hoped.

For a moment, he let himself pretend that she wanted him, that only his arms could comfort her. She would wake soon, and quite possibly reject him outright. Until then, there was no one to stop him from holding her the way he wanted to.

Just like a _real_ lover.


	24. Angel at my Window

Author's Note: Yay! Internet's up at the new place. So watch out! Massy's feeling artsy.  
Oh and **warning**: a few paragraphs here are _not _"T" rated-- I couldn't think of a way to isolate them. Sorry peoples. It's a kinky fic.

* * *

A man was singing softly to her, his deep voice so low as to nearly be a whisper.

She'd been sick . . . dizzy. She remembered retching, and a glass of water tipped to her lips, remembered pale hands on her forehead.

She felt better now. Warm, strong arms encircled her and her cheek rested against a male chest. She recognized him without opening her eyes. Sephiroth's scent was unique: steel and leather. And the leather _smelled _black. She turned her face slightly to burrow more deeply against the chest, clinging to the comfortable sensations.

"Noli manere, manere in memoria . . . Noli manere, manere in memoria . . ."

The masculine voice was soft, a sibilant lullaby, sung to the rhythmic beating of his heart.

Long disused language lessons came back to Aeris, and she mentally translated: _Don't remain, remain in memory. Don't remain, remain in memory._

"Ferum, terribile fatum . . . Ferum, terribile fatum . . . Noli manere, manere in memoria . . . Noli manere, manere in memoria . . . "

_Wild, terrifying fate . . . Don't remain, remain in memory._

"Veni, veni, venias, ne me mori facias. Veni, veni, venias, ne me mori facias . . . Gloriosa, generosa . . . Gloriosa, generosa."

_Come, come, please come, lest you make me die . . . Glorious lady, noble lady._

His voice trailed off and he hummed the pensive, slightly threatening, melody.

_I don't know this song._

"Not surprising. I wrote it."

"Really?" She hadn't been aware that she'd spoken aloud.

"Mm. I haven't thought of it for years. It's about fate-- or it was, until I just sang it to you . . . It's your song now, I think."

_Am I dreaming?_

Then it all came back to her. Lyssa and Jonathan. Sephiroth raging at her. The clang of the cell door swinging shut. Silence.

She sat up sharply.

And almost fell into a chalk-white pit.

"Careful." All that kept her from pitching into empty air was a lean black-clad arm.

Not a pit, a room.

Below them, the prison door stood open now, and the slice of artificial light she'd so painstakingly guarded her rose from-- was no longer exactly a square. A black shadow distorted it, the shadow of a seated man and woman.

She was sitting, with him, on the window sill in that high, narrow room with whitewashed walls. The walls had to be twenty feet high at least.

_I hated them for some reason. They frightened me with their pits and gouges. Like some animal was trapped in here._

And Sephiroth . . .

Fear wormed its way into her heart. For a second, she wondered if he planned to pitch her off his lap, throwing her to the concrete floor below.

She turned to face him, although she felt stiff all over and she'd developed a shooting pain in her back. He was sitting on the sill fifteen feet in the air as if it were a window seat, leveraging himself with one leg against the jamb.

He looked almost concerned.

Whatever he found in her face, it made him look away, and he turned to stare out the window.

It wasn't much of a view.

One could get a good look at the legs of people passing by if there had been any, but it was like peering up at the world from a cellar window, or a sewer grate. In fact, it reminded her a little of her view back home in the slums.

"You're feeling better?" he asked.

"Mm-hmm."

"I'm glad." After a pause, he added, "I wanted to tell you . . . I'm sorry about all this. I shouldn't have yelled, even if you were trying to kill me--"

"I wasn't, though! Sephiroth, I would never--"

He stiffened. "Don't lie _now_, Aeris, I heard everything. I _know _you--"

"But I _wasn't _going to use it! I swear!"

He took her chin in one gloved hand and tilted her head so he could search her eyes with his own lizardine ones. "Wanting to believe is not believing," he said, his expression cryptic as he released her face.

"But--" A smooth black finger tapped her lips, silencing her.

"We can talk about it later. Just-- sit with me for a while now, Aeris." He had her by the shoulders and he moved to draw her down against him.

"No, Sephiroth, I don't care if you kill me-- again. I just want things to be _right_ between us!"

"Can it ever really be right between us, Aeris?" he said. "I was wondering that while you were asleep. You are light and I am darkness."

The weakness of the past days returned to her, and she trembled a little as she looked at his face, which had grown remote again. Her lower lip trembled.

"It could be right… It could be… if you wanted it."

She reached out to him and he pulled her toward him, more insistently this time, and she let herself be pressed against his heart.

"I do want it-- Aeris . . ." He spoke into her hair, his voice barely above a whisper. "Let's not let it end this way."

She turned in his arms, shifting to look at him again, her lips parted in question. He either saw or sensed an invitation, and he bent his face to hers, meeting her lips in the softest, barest caress, lingering and nearly pressureless.

When he pulled back, she kissed him again.

She meant it as a sweet kiss, all forgiveness and apology, but he refused to break away.

His hand went to the back of her head and he held her mouth against his. Aeris resisted his tongue, more from self-consciousness than from unwillingness, but there was an urgency in him now, and now, as ever, she found could not deny him long. Their tongues met: probing, stroking, and she whimpered. He slid her onto the sill, pressing her back against the glass, parting her thighs and wrapping one leg around him. Still he kissed her, his hands on her shoulder blades now, angling her body against his.

The ledge was hardly a seat, and she found herself completely exposed, his hardness pushing against the yielding point of her body. She broke the kiss, turning her face to one side, the window pane cool against her ear.

"Wait . . . here?" she asked.

_Now?_

Sephiroth had turned his attention to her neck without missing a beat, but he paused now, chiding himself with a smile. He seemed to realize the strangeness of their situation: himself standing on nothing, pressing his prisoner against a windowpane.

"No," he said softly. "Not here." He pulled away and sat beside her. "I can do better than _that_, pretty pet."

Some of the tension of the hour was gone. Their bodies had told them what their minds could not admit: nothing had changed between them.

He settled her back down, leaning her against him, but there was something different in this embrace. He held her almost as if he were bracing, and the heartbeat beneath her ear was quicker than it had been, his breathing more rapid.

Was he-- nervous?

"Aeris… do you still want to know what it was like for me-- when I was young?"

"You would tell me that?" she almost sat up, but his arms prevented it.

"I know you already know what happened." He seemed to be half-hoping she would say, 'no._ He's backpedalling_, Aeris thought as he went on-- his words coming too quickly. "It's not a secret, even though I tried to keep people from finding out. You must have heard most of it--"

"Not from you."

That silenced him, and his breathing slowed.

It was a moment before he spoke again, and when he did it was to his reflection in the window.

"No one has heard it from me," he whispered.

* * *

"Sephiroth . . ." Her voice was sweet and clear, calming. He bent his head, hiding the lower half of his face in her hair. "I've always known I was different to you, special in some way. But not like this," she said.

_I can do this. And it's worth it . . . to hear that note of wonder in her voice, that innocent amazement. _

Yes, this would cost him more than he had ever paid, but if it got him what he wanted . . .

"Such a curious little one . . ." He muttered, fingering her brandy-brown hair.

"It's not just curiousity; I've wanted to know-- so I can know who you are. Every memory has meaning, and the ones you carry from childhood shape you-- make you _you_. That's what makes childhood so hard-- and so valuable."

He arched a silver eyebrow at her. "Well, mine's special. It was good for absolutely nothing."

He turned to look out the window again, his arms tightening around her.

And he told her.

The words came haltingly at first, as he groped for the right ones. He had rehearsed what he wanted to say while she was still asleep, but now he found himself unsure of how to begin, and the sound of his own voice startled his ideas into scattered flight. He knew only that he would not let himself cry, so his words came out even and featureless: a leaden river too-long held beneath the surface. But the more he spoke, the more easily the words flowed, and he reached back through the years, holding each sharp shard of memory up-- letting them catch the light.

* * *

Lyrics are from "One-Winged Angel" and "One-Winged Angel: Advent Children" by Nobuo Uematsu. I know, I know. "He _sings _his own _theme song_?" Sorry, guys. He just . . . wouldn't sing anything else for me. I actually think it worked surprisingly well. Who would have thought? "One-Winged Angel" is an Aeriseph song! 


	25. Whitewashed Hell: Part One

_Disclaimer:_ Square Enix owns FFVII. **Also**, the following is a description of Sephiroth's childhood and so contains references to child violence. If you have reason to believe that this will freak you out, skip ahead.

_Author's Note:_

First of all, thank you, very much, for the 12,600+ hits this story has received. Secondly, sorry about the wait. You guys probably all thought I died. The issues were many: technological, interpersonal, and prior-commitment related. Just know it was hard for me to not-post, too, review junkie that I am.

Speaking of prior commitments, I have an **important note**. In the unlikely event that any of you are judges for the ACF Literary Contest put on by Daryl Falchion, please _**do not read this **_until that contest is complete. Basically, you'll be able to figure out who wrote one of the entries pretty easily. (Yeah, sorry. Only have so many ideas.)

Other than that, I just want to let you know that I _am_ aware of the few incongruities between my Sephiroth's history and the one portrayed in "Vita, Amare, et Cruciamentum."

I am not going to fix them. Sorry to the purists. I was going to write something incredibly compelling that revealed why I felt the need to make Sephiroth aware of his non-Cetra roots. Three full-scale re-writes later, I've come up with this instead.

And just so you know, this chapter ends in kind of an odd place-- I've broken this terribly long chapter in two.

* * *

"I used to sit at this window every day. On Thursday afternoons children came to the room across the hall and I watched them playing-- _I _hated_ them_-- Even then, I knew I wasn't like them, and not just because I wasn't allowed out to play. I always knew-- yes, I always knew-- I wasn't human." 

He spoke with studied nonchalance, and he paused now to look down at her. He seemed to be waiting, gauging her reactions.

Pieces fit together in Aeris' mind. A cell in the bowels of Shinra's headquarters. A prison cell now, but once--

"Wait-- then this . . . ?"

"Is my-- _home_."

Those gashes in the whitewashed wall, the ones that looked so much like little hands clawing into the stone-- _his _fingers had made them?

"It seems I exhibited 'a tendency to wander' when I was still very young. Meaning, I kept trying to run away. I have to assume, though, that the 'tendency' was exaggerated in Hojo's reports, because it worked out suspiciously well for him. He could keep me locked in here until my 'treatments' were complete, with no questions asked. I saw a lot of these walls, even though I think I could have gotten out if I really wanted to. I preferred my own company, though, so this became my first domain . . . What do you think of it?"

"It's horrible."

He gave a slight, mirthless chuckle. "You always understand so well," he said, "I meant to have this place torn down when I first took power, but the architects were ranting about structural integrity . . ." He shook his head and made a dismissive gesture with one hand. "I just assumed I'd never come down here again."

"Thank you. For coming, I mean."

"I've been here nine hours. The guards must be wondering why I haven't made this a conjugal visit." He kissed the top of her head, and his soft words were spoken into her temple. "But even now I couldn't stand to have that door close behind me. So I suppose you're safe, flower girl." The arm around her tightened a little. "This was the room where they ran experiments on me. Injections. Inhalations. Psych batteries. Starvation . . . Aside from Hojo's more traditional beatings."

As he spoke the last words, a change went over him. The arm holding her gripped her more tightly and his voice seemed colder than she had ever heard it: clinical and distant. She knew this cold was not meant to frighten her-- he was just obviously unused to sharing confidences-- but it did, a little.

She turned in his arms, clutching the black straps across his chest for balance. He avoided her gaze, toying with her hair pensively, then murmured, "That song . . . the one I wrote . . . I wrote it when I was thirteen years old. I had just learned poisons: where to get them, how to use them, how much my body could take-- how they would throw off test results. It was a risk to combine experiments like that, but a calculated risk. I was always somewhat-- _objective_ about death, too. As a child, I assumed that if they killed me I would get to meet my mother, who died in childbirth-- or so I was told. I always hoped she'd be waiting for me just on the other side of death, thankful I had delivered her from this world, _glad _to see me . . ."

His voice trailed off and she slid her arms around him. He tensed a moment before accepting the embrace, and he looked down at her. She could only hope that he saw her true feelings-- that she was listening to him with her whole soul. He relaxed a little, her soft grip seeming to bolster him. He smiled slightly as he looked away and began speaking again:

"When I wrote that song, I'd just had a very particular success-- you see, I wasn't helpless, not even here. I learned what to say and how to say it to survive, which has proved good practice for leadership and politics. I also learned to be impervious to pain . . . And, of course, how to skew Hojo's test results. Hojo had just given me an injection he'd been working on for eight months. I wasn't supposed to know what it did, but the young have big ears, especially when they're bored. It was designed to make me able to learn spells ten times faster than ordinary memory retention-- so, just before he came to administer the shot, I took helderwort-- which dulls the mind, if you don't know. The combination made me feel very giddy and philosophic, and Hojo left a few hours later, grumbling. I knew he hadn't caught me, but I also knew that he _would_, eventually. Helderwort has some telltale side effects. So I composed a little song about fate. In Latin, no less."

He made a sharp, bitter noise from the back of his throat, which might have been a laugh. Aeris felt like crying.

"Of course, whenever Hojo _did _catch me, there'd be hell to pay. If I was very lucky he would beat the shit out of me. He'd done something to himself-- to make himself stronger-- I suppose so he could keep me in line. I don't remember how many times he kicked me from one end of this room to the other. . . More often, though, I wasn't lucky, and that meant some new game for him and me to play."

His breath was soft on her ear as he spoke, but his words cut like slivers of obsidian-- blacker than hatred. She had always been aware of this in him-- the gentle cruelty. Now it was magnified. He spoke coolly about unthinkable horror, and all the while one hand trailed up and down her back, petting her. But she saw the pain behind the icy façade, saw that he was using her body to ground himself in the present while looking into the past.

"The punishment that time was a game he called 'mako-antidote.' The end result was dyteria-- that lovely little substance your friend Jonathan gave you. Hojo invented it courtesy of research performed on _me_ . . . The final version he gave me made me bleed from my eyes and ears for two weeks. I pissed blood for over a month. That's why President Shinra had me enter SOLDIER so early. I think he suspected I would die if I stayed here much longer. Fortunately for me, Shinra was no scientist: research was never an end in itself for him, and he had to be sure he got his money's worth out of me."

Sephiroth punctuated this revelation by kissing her neck. Aeris tightened her arms around him, pressing her face into the black leather, blinking back tears.

"The most common game, though, was 'get a haircut,'" he went on. "You'd never know it to look at me now, but they kept my head shaved. So about once a week (not on a specific day-- Hojo liked to have me wait for _that_ axe to fall), I would be strapped to a table, shaved, and injected with mako right--" He tapped the base of her skull, "Here. . . It would have hurt less to be burned alive, I'm sure of it. And I would hallucinate. I thought the patterns in the walls were trying to kill me. I saw my stomach bloat and burst, saw my legs eaten by maggots. Dead faces . . . singing. Laughing at me. . . It's been-- a while-- since I let anyone cut my hair."

"Oh, gods, Sephiroth, I didn't know!" Aeris breathed.

"How could you have known?" His arm relaxed a little, and she realized then that even while one arm caressed her, the other had been pinning her to him with near-bruising force. She had not felt it, because she was clinging to him with equal strength.

He was only silent a short moment before he went on. The words were coming more easily now, surfacing like blood rising from a broken scab. "Hojo's favorite game was 'showtime.' He loved it because it was purely psychological-- hardly any carry-over effects to watch out for, if he was conducting multiple experiments . . . I remember the first time the most vividly: I was taken to a room with a projection screen, which was unusual but not unheard of. _I_ wanted to watch '_Doorcats_.' Do you remember that show? Ah . . . too young, maybe. At any rate, Shinra had a collection of films-- evidence left over from murder trials. Whenever a killer went through the trouble of videotaping himself slaughtering people-- the tape went into the library. I was shown one of those videos . . ." His arm tightened again, and Aeris squeezed back reassuringly. "A father killed his own family-- a wife and four children. I never found out why he did it, let alone why he _filmed _himself doing it . . . He killed each of them in the family bathtub by injecting them with a neural paralyzer. They drowned. One by one. Drowned in water that didn't come up to their knees, because they couldn't make their bodies sit up . . . I was four years old. I had nightmares for weeks, and I refused to bathe, too, which got me in other trouble . . . Eventually though, I got used to it-- even came to enjoy some of what I saw. I learned how people's faces twist when they beg for their lives. Saw children my age forced to dig their own graves. Eyes ripped from sockets. Fingernails torn loose. Flayings. Decapitation. Rape. Lots of rape. . . They used to wake me in the middle of the night to show me the particularly grisly deaths-- so that the images would burn more deeply into my subconscious. After a while, it was hard to tell my nightmares from the videos. But I learned a lot. I suppose I should be grateful."

"_What_?" Aeris sat up so sharply she almost fell off the sill.

"Hm, you _wouldn't _agree, would you?" The corner of his mouth twitched and he fingered her hair, amber silk sliding over black leather.

"Of course I don't agree! That doesn't even make sense! . . . why would they--?"

"Ah. Well, they thought they'd created a Cetra when they made me. The Cetra are known for their magic-- and their gentleness." He smiled at her. "But Shinra didn't fund the project to get a powerful healer concerned with others' wellbeing: he wanted a SOLDIER who would lead them to the Promised Land-- Planet's will be damned. So they trained my mind away from gentler things . . . I think they-- overcompensated."

_This is what would have happened to me, if they had caught me. He suffered it instead._

He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Anyway, those treatments stopped when I was about eleven. They'd finally figured out that Jenova was no Ancient, and besides, I started falling asleep during the showings."

Aeris' mouth fell open.

"The videos were very poorly done, for the most part," he explained, vaguely apologetic. "I should stop. I'm frightening you, aren't I?"

"No, please, I want to know."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! Completely." He touched her cheek, and a tear spilled from the corner of her eye, darkening a spot on the black leather. She reached up and held the gloved hand against her face.

"There isn't much more to tell, really . . . Was there any more you wanted to know?"

Aeris drew several shuddering breaths, before she could think of a reply. "Was-- wasn't _anyone_ ever kind to you?" she asked.

"Ah . . ." He settled her back against him before answering, and Aeris sniffled into his chest. "Well, there were my tutors. I had a new one every month or so for as long as I can remember, all of them the finest of Shinra's first-class SOLDIERs. But, for any soldier, the best instructors are often cruel. They break you, planning to build you up again. I impressed them, of course-- I handled a sword better than most of _them_ did-- but they also feared me. And their fear made them hate me. One of them wrote in his report on me: 'We are training our own executioner.' Clever man. I would have made him a noble if he hadn't died in Wutai. See, his hatred-- like most of theirs-- was a hatred tempered by respect, and _that _I could live with. Even welcome . . .

"There was someone else, too," he added after a pause. "One of Hojo's assistants took a special interest in me. I could always tell if a treatment was going to be painful, because she would look away. Once, when Hojo was away travelling, she told me it was my birthday. I didn't know what she meant, although I _had_ noticed the 'age' blank on the 'Test Subject: Sephiroth' reports now read '6' instead of '5.'

"She made me a cake with white frosting and six blue candles. I remember being afraid to like it, because food as I knew it was that nutrient-gruel, and anything with scent or flavor was an experiment-- and therefore suspect." Again, his quiet laugh held no humor. "She sang to me, had me blow out the candles, and gave me a little brown box. I wasn't really sure what the point was, and I kept waiting for something-- more familiar-- to happen. But when I opened that box, I saw the first love of my life . . . It was a rat, obviously taken from some other part of the lab. He had eyes just like mine, and his coat was silver-white . . .

"I named him 'Ratty.' Not very original perhaps, but I was six. He would climb up my arm and sit on my shoulder. I would chase him around the room, trying to mimic the way he darted. Then, after about three months, Hojo found me with him."

Sudden rage broke through his toneless voice-- rage and shame-- and his grip on her became a band of black iron. "I _still _can't think why I let it happen," he said. "I was so _careless_. I knew he was coming, I _heard_ him, but I didn't hide the box in time, and he made me-- I--" He broke off, as if his words choked him. When he spoke again, it was in the emotionless monotone.

"Hojo called it an 'anatomy lesson.' Poor little creature. He lived so _long_." His gloved fingers twisted in her hair. "When it was over, he made me flush the pieces down the toilet one at a time. And Lucrecia-- that was her name-- just _stood _there, looking at her hands."

* * *

_Author's Note:_

Written to "Mother Dear" by Danny Elfman. An _Advent Children _AMV is currently here:

http:// www youtube com/ watch?v G8kOnzXy5Ec


	26. Whitewashed Hell: Part Two

Disclaimer: **ALL** the stuff for last chapter holds true for this one, too.

* * *

"As much as I hated Hojo… I hated _her_ more. Gods, the sight of her made me _sick_. I might easily have gone insane when I found out that she-- and _Hojo_--were my 'parents.' I found out what they were-- what _I _was-- just a little before I met you that day outside the city. 

"You must understand, Aeris, the only thing I had to cling to then, my only hope, was the knowledge that I was_ not _human. Every human has the capacity to become Hojo . . . But most are content to be Lucrecias. They shuffle through their lives, letting governments, or luck, or _gods_ take responsibility for their actions-- letting others choose their destinies, choose who is valuable and who should be killed. They huddle together in their cowardice just as their ancestors did." He sneered. "And they believe themselves _innocent_."

Aeris wanted to say something, but his anger was so complete, and his pain so palpable, the words stuck in her throat.

"About that time, too, I started hearing Mother calling to me-- my _real _mother. The one I'd prayed to as a boy."

"You mean-- the calamity from the sky?"

"Jenova," he nodded. "Shinra lied to me again. She was alive, trapped just as I had been … And she loved me in all my sordid glory. She wanted me to be everything I could be. Not even _you_ can do that, little flower girl."

"Sephiroth, don't say that. It isn't true--"

He seemed to recollect himself, and the painful grip around her shoulders eased. "I'm sorry. I just-- don't like talking about what happened to Mother." He looked away, staring out the window again. "I loved her. I dared to love her, and I had to kill her. It was either that or be used to destroy the Planet.

"After I met you, five years ago, I went to the reactor where she was. I stood in front of the glass pillar they kept her in, and I heard her voice-- Gods, the _power _in it!-- She was saying, 'My son! My boy! Come here! Come to me!' _Exactly _what I'd dreamed she would say when she first saw me, _exactly _the opposite of Lucrecia, who got weaker and smaller every day, until she disappeared completely.

"She was always blubbering to Hojo to let her 'see her son.' He would laugh. Now I know what was so damn funny-- I was right in front of her the whole time, and she didn't even recognize me. A good mother would have known, even if they _did _change my birthday on the records, even if I _didn't _happen to look like her. And my _real _mother _did _know me . . .

"I knew she--Mother-- was using me, toying with my memories, but that didn't bother me. All my life I'd been used for someone else's ends. I broke the glass that held her, let the preserving fluid run out. I reached for her-- touched her face. I didn't think anything could hurt worse than mako injections, but I was wrong. I tried to make her stop whatever she was doing to my mind-- I was screaming-- but she caught me with her tendrils. She showed me her vision for the world-- empty of life, a fit chariot for a queen. I felt her desire for it as if it was my own, and I knew it _was _my desire. All the codes of honor I'd obeyed during the Wutai war were nonsense: rules made up by children to make their war games less frightening. This-- what she was saying-- was the only thing that made sense. Destroy the Hojos and the Lucrecias and there will be nothing left to hurt me. Only Mother and I-- and I would be a god. I would be master. _I would be_ free.

"I almost gave in to her, _wanted _to give in to her, but-- I remembered our kiss. And even though Jenova had her tendrils gripping me like chains, I could feel you in my arms. I thought I heard your voice. You were begging me not to listen to her, you said, 'All around the world, people are finding each other-- just like _we _found each other. Those loves, those little lights, belong to _them_. You have no right to take that from them.'"

He fell silent.

_That sounds like something I wouldn't think of saying until far too late._

"I remember I thought: 'If I become Jenova's destroying angel, I will kill that little flower girl, too. Last of the Cetra.' If you hadn't come to me outside Midgar, Aeris, I could, even now, be the dark god of a dead world."

Aeris searched his face.

_Then… Planet was right! I _was _supposed to go to him that day!_

Aeris felt the dual thrill of a prophecy come true and Sephiroth's praise. And yet, at the same time, there seemed to be something terribly dangerous in his words, like a coiled snake-- waiting.

"I ran my mother straight through the chest," he was saying. "It didn't kill her, of course, but it surprised her. I dragged her out on my blade, and pitched her into the mako reactor. She screamed like a gale all the way down, battering against my brain. I don't know if she died, somehow I doubt it, but it silenced her.

"I stood there a long time, just staring into the mako, my own mother's blood dripping down my sword. When my head finally stopped pounding, I knew who was to blame for everything . . . Shinra employed Hojo. Shinra sought out and imprisoned Mother. Shinra funded the experiments that made me. Everything they'd ever told me was a lie. And all the time, _I _was stronger than they were. _I _was smarter than they were. Even their own troops were loyal to _me_. . .I took my time killing President Shinra and his son. Hojo died regrettably fast-- and Lucrecia escaped me, damn her . . ."

His voice trailed off again.

_How can I comfort him? Pain like this-- how can I hope to take it away? Where could I even begin?_

She wrapped her arms around him more tightly, but this time he only ran his hand down her back absently, staring out the window, and Aeris feared whatever voice he listened to. Jenova was still very much a part of him-- the Dark Harbinger, who came from heaven bringing death-- especially to her race.

_Can he still hear her? _

When he spoke again, his words only confirmed her suspicions. "I still think of Jenova's dream from time to time," he said. "I wanted to tell you-- you could be part of it too, Aeris. I don't want to have to kill you; I gave up becoming a god, just to hold you again. So what are mutual death threats between friends, hmm? Just promise me you won't oppose me, and I'll cleanse this world of the festering disease of human life--"

"Sephiroth, that's insane! . . . You know that's insane-- right?"

"Insane? Hardly. Why would you call it insane?" He looked at her. "Weren't you one of those who _thanked _me for ending the use of mako-energy? Said I'd 'stopped the Planet's wound.' What could be wrong with draining the wound and cauterizing it? If I don't destroy them all, Aeris, there _will_ eventually be another Shinra. Humans won't give up their precious mako-technology just because it wounds the Planet." He leaned his face closer to her, and his gloved fingers tilted her face up. "_I _could make sure they never have the chance. Wipe this world clean and start again with just you and I in a grisly Eden all our own. I could shield you like a candle while we ride the darkness of the skies--"

Aeris felt her eyes go wide. "_What?_-- But-- You're talking about destroying the world!"

"I'm talking about _remaking _the world . . . With you, pretty Ancient."

"Sephiroth, _no_!" Aeris pulled away from him.

That_ is the dangerous thing I sensed_!

He could cause of millions of deaths without the slightest remorse."Good" was what she wanted, "bad" was what would drive her away. He answered to no moral code beyond that.

"Ah," he frowned. "You know, I _thought_ you wouldn't like the idea. Tsk, tsk. More's the pity." His words were calm, but his posture was not. "Aeris, don't look at me like that. I know all this-- all the thoughts of my blood-soaked brain-- are unfathomable to you. That's what I _like _about you. You believe in something greater than yourself. That unyielding faith is the 'bright thing' in you that opposes me. I should hate you, I think. But I don't . . . I can't." As he spoke, he reached for her again and slid off the ledge, spilling down the white wall like hot tar, and they settled to the ground with a soft tapping sound as his boots touched the floor. They stood face to face, as if they were about to dance.

"When I first met you," he said, "I called you 'weak.' I never should have done that. Never. Your strength is amazing. I've been wondering: if we had lived each other's lives-- if I had your eyes and you had mine-- I wonder who you would be. I always thought this room forced me to be as I am, but somehow-- I can't imagine even this whitewashed hell changing you as it did me. I want you with me, Aeris." There was something tense in the last sentence-- almost desperate. "I just need proof that you won't betray me. Promise me you'll forget Avalanche, promise me you'll be mine forever-- and give me a sign."

Another warning bell sounded in Aeris' mind. She remembered Elmyra telling her that no man should ever have the power to choose her friends for her.

"What sign do you want?"

"I could have you treated with mako and Jenova cells. I think you have what it takes to be in SOLDIER."

"_What?_"

"You're strong now-- I could make you a goddess. I don't know if you'll be able to fly, but you'll be faster, more alert. Who knows? You might even make me look like a clumsy prototype. Hojo _was _trying to reproduce the Cetra when he made me, after all. _You _are the real thing."

"_No, _Sephiroth, don't ask this of me!" She tried to back away from him, but his arms prevented her.

"If it's the pain you're worried about, I'll be sure you're sedated. I promise you, it won't be the way it was for me. It will be your choice, when you're ready for it, and I'll be there to comfort you."

"That's not it! That isn't it at all, but I can't do _that_! I'm the last of my race! The Ancients before me would rather die a thousand deaths than see their last daughter become part of their enemy!"

"You're refusing me?" There was no anger in his words, only amazement, disbelief. He looked as if she had stabbed him-- shock spreading across his features. She had seen this face only once before-- a look that still sent pangs through her conscience-- on the plains outside Midgar, when she had screamed to be let go. His haunted eyes glowed-- tortured by a thousand nameless demons.

"Not you, Sephiroth, never you. But you want to make me _unnatural_! You want to make me--"

"Like _me_." His voice was quiet.

"_No!_ I _wasn't _going to say that--" Aeris began.

"You're just like everyone else. You think-- I'm a _freak_." Slowly, but with a terrible finality, he withdrew his arm and pushed her away from him.

"Sephiroth, _please_!_ Please_ don't think that!" She took a step toward him, but he backed away. "Ask me anything else, but this I _cannot do_!"

"You don't-- want me. I thought--"

"Oh gods, Sephiroth, _please _understand. Jenova is _evil_, not you. I swear I don't think there's _any_thing wrong with _you_!"

"Then you're a fool!" He recovered his anger in a flash, and it snapped over him like plate armor. "You are very young." His voice was low and sharp, laced with rage. "And the young are very-- certain of things. Their certainty makes them cruel. But know this: I have been reasonable. I have been more than reasonable! I offered you a way out-- _two _in fact-- and _you would not take them_! Your blood is on your own head!" As he spoke, his volume increased, until he was almost shouting. He spun on his heel and strode away from her.

Aeris caught a fistful of leather as he turned away.

"Sephiroth, no! There's another way! You could _trust _me. You could negotiate with the Resistance… _Change_ things." He scowled and yanked his coat free of her hand. "Or we could compromise. _You _could come with _me_. Somewhere far away where no one will know us-- we can make a little Eden of our own! _Leave _all this, leave everything that hurt you, and start again, with _me_."

His eyes fixed on hers, and he seemed to soften. Emotions played across his face, too fast for her to decipher. She watched him weigh her words. He wanted to believe, that much was obvious, but he was so damn _used _to not getting what he truly wanted.

"Sephiroth, _please_. Don't stay in the darkness you remember-- it's an illusion and it will suffocate you if you stay in it too long. _Let it go_ and _stay_ with me! I can show you what peace is!"

For a breathless moment, the heaven she offered battled the hell he knew, warring for his soul.

Heaven lost.

"Didn't you hear me, Venificulla? _Everything _I've cherished, I've _killed_."

Pushing her away, he strode out of the cell.

"Have the Central Square bell rung right before she dies. I want to hear the last sound she hears."

"M'lord!" the guard saluted.

Her voice rose over the clang of the cell door swinging shut: "Sephiroth!"

His coat fanned around him as he swept down the white passageway. He was fleeing from her, and he knew it.

"Sephiroth! I can't be what you want… but I _can_ be what you need! Sephiroth let me! Let me! Let me love you!"

The hall door banged behind him, but he still heard muted sobs. For a moment, he wasn't sure if they were hers-- or his own.

* * *

Author's Note:  
Dang. That was depressing.  
I had a really difficult time with this scene. (Lotsa rewrites.) My problems were many: first of all, it's all dialogue, which makes it unwieldy. Secondly, I meant for this to be a quick little one-shot, but it mutated. Thirdly, Sephiroth's history is brutal and disturbing-- so he's much less the lover, and more the villain. I wanted him to be set up to find an adoptive mother in Jenova, even if he's resisted her (barely) in this universe.  
So . . . emotional reactions: pity? anger? boredom? Did you feel his loneliness/craziness?  
Lastly and most importantly: _thanks to Ardwynna Morrigu_ for the beta. XD 

Written to "Mordred's Lullaby" by Heather Dale. There is currently an Advent Children AMV here:  
http:// youtube com / watch?v81EuwZy-SNY

Visual reference was "The Truth Revealed" by Erufe  
http:// www deviantart com / deviation / 30069808/


	27. Veni, Veni, Mi Fili

Disclaimer: SE owns the characters and setting and stuff. 

Title Translation: Come, Come, My Son

Author's Note: This chapter makes reference to noacat's "Purgatory" and Ardwynna Morrigu's "Path of Seduction." Hope that's ok.

* * *

Sephiroth paced. 

Less than an hour left now.

_Why do I feel like _I'm _the one about to be executed?_

He picked up a report. Set it down again.

_This is the same damn report I've been reading since yesterday!_

Something about a minor defeat in the east.

_My fault. Amazingly poor troop movement on my part._

_How much is this one-night tryst going to cost me?_

But it wasn't a one-night tryst.

Every fiber of his being screamed to him that it wasn't.

No tryst could hurt this badly when it ended.

_And you, little flower girl, you have already hurt me more than words can say._

He saw her face again: tearful as she reached for him, calling him to some simple, blissful life he'd never known. Peace with the Resistance. Her by his side.

_Not a single tear for herself._

For herself, she kept calm even in the face of his rage, even in the face of her own death. Something had changed in her over the past days. She was not the terrified fugitive he had brought with him through the air, but a woman who knew her own power.

_What could be so wrong with letting her live? Would it be so impossible to do as she says and just-- trust her?_

_What are you thinking? She _betrayed_ you! All her kisses, all her tears-- whore tricks for whoremongers; if she cared for you, she would have taken your offer! But no! Never once did she make an excuse, never once did she apologize! She'd do it all again if given the chance! Are you really enough of a fool that you would crawl on your knees to a bitch like that and let her murder you in your sleep? She's a fog and a weakness! A fog to be dispelled with a single flash of steel--_

A hesitant knock.

A servant he didn't recognize poked his head in the door and bowed excessively, ill-concealing his quaking. Whenever the household staff suspected Sephiroth of being in truly foul humor, they sent him flunkies lower in the chain of command.

Today, they were on the last link.

"M'lord, the . . . er . . . prisoner in the seventeenth cell is being led to Central Square. We have a viewing seat ready for you, if you would like to attend--"

"I wouldn't."

"Reno will be the executioner, sir; is that to your liking?"

"No. . . I mean yes, it's fine."

"And --uh-- we're expecting some-- demonstrations from the crowd. We were planning on having the execution a few minutes ahead of schedule-- to throw off any last-minute heroics, but we may need more--"

"Enough details! Just get it done, damn you!" His knuckles whitened on Masamune's hilt.

The servant paled and shook. He looked like he was about to faint.

Sephiroth swung away from him in disgust and flung the window open. As he leaped into the bright sky, he thought, _How utterly different from _her.

He had known for days that he would not be able to attend her execution. If he did, he ran the risk of bursting into tears in front of all of Midgar. At an execution _he _had dictated. What was more likely, though, was that he would break at the last moment and order her back to safety: just take her in his arms, and--

_Would she ever forgive me?_

_It hardly counts as saving her, if I'm only staying my own executioner._

_. . . It should be _you_ who kills her, you know. You can feel it. That would align best with other realities. _

That much was true.

In other realities, he could and did kill the green-eyed beauty. But he also knew that in _this _reality, the thought of her in pain repelled him, nauseated him.

_Who's her executioner again? Is he a sure swordhand?_

_Reno. Not a sword, then. She'll die of a gunshot to the head._

_Gods, I won't even be able to kiss her goodbye. With the caliber Reno uses, there won't be much left of her face._

_Damn it all! Why does _that _matter?_

He hesitated outside his chambers, standing on the sill and peering into the room he had not dared enter since Aeris' arrest. One hand rested on the window latch, the other on his sword hilt, almost as if he expected a trap.

_I should never have brought her here . . . Or I should never have ordered her death! Surely things could go back to normal if I just kept her a prisoner!_

If she rotted in cell seventeen, at least she would be _alive_. He didn't _have _to kill her, just to preserve his dark sanity, did he?

_Yes. Yes, you do. _

_Indecisiveness does not suit you, Sephiroth. _

The words of his favorite tutor's report came back to him: "Test Subject: Sephiroth combines an observant, serpentine cunning with the recklessness found in small children who have too-long been bullied . . . We are training our own executioner."

_And an executioner is all I am._

_I can forget her. I'll be the soulless, iron-fisted Lord of Midgar, with my SOLDIERs and my Turks--_

Reno.

_How will I ever look at him again, knowing he put a bullet in her brain?_

Turning the kindest, most insightful mind he'd ever known to into so much gray pulp.

Closing those emerald eyes forever.

_Don't think about it!_

He swept into the room, swinging the window shut behind him with unnecessary force. He froze for an instant, hand on Masamune's hilt, as if he expected a memory to leap from the shadows and run him through.

It was cold in here again.

His boots crunched on the coins and diamonds still littering the floor. Someone had made up the bed though, and he-- irrationally-- resented this, regarding the fluffed pillows like enemies, until he remembered that _Aeris _had been the one to straighten the sheets that morning.

Could he ever sleep in that bed again?

Could he ever sleep in this _room _again?

Everything reminded him of her.

Even the damn _ceiling_.

Her scent clung to the air, half-imagined. Honey and roses and fresh, green life. The smell of spring.

He needed a fire. Not a gentle one to warm the room, but a blazing inferno. Hellfire for Hades.

_I'll burn it to the ground-- the room, the palace, everything!_

But as he lifted his hand to hurl a fire spell into the grate, something shiny, lying in the cold ashes, caught his eye.

He stared, the furious spell dissolving from his mind.

He knew what it was even before he picked it up.

Slowly, tremblingly, he crouched down and retrieved the glinting object.

A thin vial of black liquid rested in his hand.

_She threw it in the fire. _

Her voice came back to him: _"Sephiroth, I would never--"_

_She would never use it on me._

Images flashed through his head: Her form curled tightly against him as she slept. Her nude body pressed against the branch of a rosebud tree. Crushing her against him in a dark alley. Dreams of her waiting for him, aching for him. A taste of paradise. A taste of--

_Home._

The hand holding the dyteria shook.

_You could drink it, _said Hojo's voice. _When you hear the bell tolling her death, you could drink it and die with her. Very touching._

_Would she be waiting for me, just on the other side of death?_

_But why . . . why would she throw the vial away? _

_Why when it was all a trick?_

He felt the voice before he heard it. It came like a trickle of water, like the first strain of a melody. Then the dam burst, and the symphony swelled to life. The voice was like Mother's voice, but without the acid, gloating edge. Like Aeris' voice, only deeper, timeless, echoing with the sounds of crashing surf and whispering pine, petals unfolding and insects' droning. A voice that had always been there, he just hadn't been able to hear it.

"_It would it comfort you to think it was all a trick, wouldn't it, my child?" _said the Planet, gently chiding._ "If it were all a lie, you could go back to being your ignoble self."_

_How am I hearing you?_

"_You thought you took Aeris' innocence. But she took your guilt. Now, her purity is part of you. You might have realized it sooner, if you had dreamed."_

_But--_ he tried to mentally turn away. _It _was_ all a lie! I'm nothing to her but a Shinra-made monster. Sleeping with me, listening to me… all ploys to aid Avalanche…_

"_The trouble is, child, you don't really believe that. Look again." _A night spent in sunbronzed arms. Feather-light fingers touching his face like misting rain, like fairy kisses. Her plain, cheap bra, unclasping beneath his fingers. The vast, barren plains of Midgar--and two figures pressed together. Body to body. Soul to soul. "_You just want to believe it, child. Because tasting heaven means changing how you live on earth."_

_She is my madness! I'll kill her and return to--_

_Unless… Unless…_

"_She is your sanity."_

The sixth sense he'd developed over the last days flared to life. He saw flashes, disjointed images in the Lifestream. Other Turns of the Cycle.

He stood in the middle of a desolate plain, practicing a kata. When he opened his eyes, Aeris was in front of him, startling him so much he froze-- midmotion.

_She chose me, _that Sephiroth thought._ She could have had anyone and she chose me._

Moonlight reflected off an inky sea and he lay curled in a fetal position, crippled and blinded by Mother's familiar torture. But Aeris was beside him, touching his face, calling him back to consciousness. "You came back," he whispered, hardly believing that she was there, that the pain was gone. "You heard me and you came back."

Sunshine poured through an open window onto Aeris' hair, and he stood behind her, running a brush through the amber tresses with even, practised strokes. Aeris in a frosty wood-- snowflakes settling in her hair and lashes, her teeth gleaming white as she laughed. Aeris gardening. Aeris coming towards him down a church aisle, dressed all in white, a beaded veil over her hair. His own long-fingered hands releasing a one-winged dove. It flew into the sunlight-- impossibly, it flew.

And then . . . darker images from worlds without her.

He knelt before Mother, crowned king of a lifeless world. He lurked in a tainted lifestream, a deathless ghoul craving the planet's lifeblood. He leapt downwards, his cloak spreading around him like the wings of a black bird of prey, Masamune point-down in both hands. The blade plunged through Aeris' back and she collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut.

_No!_

_If I let her die-- there will be only hate. She is my light-- all the rest is shadows. _

"_She is your sanity . . . She is beauty, and peace. Harmony and serenity and hope."_

_Oh gods._

_What have I done?_

The dyteria dropped from his fingers.

"What have I _done_?" One hand went to the side of his head, clutching a fistful of silver-white hair.

_She_ was more beautiful than life. _She_, herself, was worth more than everything he'd worked to build. She was his crux, his pivot point, and everything he was had to do with _her_.

_And I'm _killing _her? _

His eyes snapped to the clock. Was she mounting the scaffold even now? Even now kneeling before a gun?

Just then, the bell tolled.

_No!_


	28. Nunquam a Memoria

Disclaimer: I didn't come up with Sephiroth and company, nor do I hold any rights thereto.  
Title Translation: Never a Memory (I think. I don't speak Latin.)

* * *

Faster than thought, Masamune was in his hand and he was through the window, breaking into the sky in an explosion of glass and wood. 

Behind him, the door tore from its hinge, candles snuffed out down the hall, and a chandelier came crashing to the floor. He moved so quickly he left an afterimage of himself, a faint blue outline of a man on his knees, gripping his head in his hands.

_Faster!_

The city flashed under him, concrete and steel. A church loomed ahead, but he did not change course, only slammed through the circular nave window and out through a rotted wall.

_Faster!_

He gained speed, rushing between two ranks of buildings. Windows burst from their frames with the force of his passing, shattering in a line, raining jagged shards of clear shrapnel.

Central Square was just ahead.

_There!_

He could see her. A rosy dot on a platform. Someone must have let her choose her last clothes because she wore a simple pink shift.

Aeris knelt with her back to him, head bowed in prayer, and he flew towards her like a black bird of prey.

But this time, her killer stood in front of her.

_Gods. I'm too far away!_

Reno seemed to wince as he pulled the trigger.

But he did pull it.

* * *

Precious seconds ticked by, the last seconds of Aeris' life. Yuffie and Tifa huddled over a mass of wiring, the hastily-constructed detonator for the attack on Midgar's Central Square. 

"She's already at the execution site! Just like Marla said." Yuffie indicated a blip on the console she held. "We have to act now-- even if the troops aren't ready to move yet!"

Yuffie, rather hypocritically, had been less-than accepting of Marla when the older woman first arrived, bringing news of Aeris' arrest and offering to help the Resistance. Cloud, though, had decided to trust her-- despite their previous experience with palace spies. If he hadn't trusted her promptly and completely, Marla never would have had the chance to help at all, because she was dismissed from the palace the next day. As it was, she'd had time to slip Aeris a rose-- which held a tracking device.

"Cloud, did you hear that?" Tifa asked into her com.

Cloud's voice came through, crackling with static on the secured line. "I did! Fire, Teef. There's no time to wait for us!"

Tifa nodded. "Ready, Yuffie?"

"Ready!" Yuffie answered, and pressed the button on the detonator.

Nothing happened.

"Oh, great shrieking Leviathan!" Yuffie yelled. She began pouring out a string of expletives in Wutaian as she hunted through the wires for a misfiring circuit or a bad connector.

_Oh gods, Aeris,_ Tifa thought. _I'm so sorry. _

_We tried._

* * *

___Maybe, despite all the alternatives we offered each other-- peace or perdition-- maybe _this _was the only way it could end. _

Tears started to Aeris' eyes. Somehow, she had lost both her lover and her friend. Planet had not spoken to her at all today, on this day when Aeris needed her most, except for a chaotic string of mental images of life with Sephiroth, then of Sephiroth alone.

___A sign, perhaps. Maybe that vision of him killing me-- the same vision I saw in the dining room-- was Planet's way of warning me not to hope for too much._

She clutched the yellow rose Marla had given her until thorns pricked through her skin.

The platform was ringed by guards, presumably to keep Aeris from making a run for it, but, in reality, they held off an increasingly restless crowd. Aeris recognized a few faces from the palace staff and was thankful not to see any gloating expressions. Marla was not there.

___She should have come. I would have liked to thank her._

Marla had enclosed the bloody euridium seeds with her note, and Aeris had taken them out several times over the last days, turning them over in hands that shook from trithbane. The rose, too had been a comfort to her, and the special message written on the roses' tag. To the untrained eye, her note would appear to be only a card with an elaborate border, but to those who grew up in the underbelly of Midgar, the "border" was clearly a message. The slums had several common styles of graffiti tags, and Marla, apparently, knew how to read and write in the looping, varicolored script of the wall scrawl near Aeris' old home.

The note, however, was nothing she had ever seen splattered on a building. It read:

___For one night, Beauty tamed the Beast. We still love you.  
Keep this rose and keep your hope._

Aeris tried not to imagine a slight emphasis on the word "we."

___I should be angry with him. _

Instead, a peculiar calm had settled over her, like the detatched feeling she experienced when Masamune went through her back in that other Cycle. Each face in the crowd was precious, as were the birds winging overhead, and the city smells of steel and oil and decay. Even the irritated faces of drivers who saw they would have to make a detour around Central Square were precious. Life was precious. She had always known it, and she lived it now as only those facing death can. She would not waste these last moments being angry or afraid.

___Perhaps I _should _be angry with him, but he has enough anger for us both, I think._

Besides, the horror of his childhood was still fresh in her mind. Yes, he was a demon and yes, more than a little insane, but he was not that way by choice. Whatever he did, to others and to herself, what was done to him was worse.

___Why _did _he choose that cell to put me in? Does he have some subconscious desire to be vulnerable with me-- showing his private self, his hurts-- even as he consciously planned to kill me?_

___Or did he just hate me so much he wanted me to taste the worst hell he could think of?_

___Maybe both._

"Did you want a blindfold?" Reno asked.

"Thank you, no."

"Any last words?"

Aeris thought for a moment. "When you see him, give him this." She held the flower out. "And tell him I'll be watching over him. Tell him I will never be a mere memory. Tell him--"

___Tell him I love him._

"Well . . . he'll figure the rest out," she said, and knelt.

Reno muttered over his shoulder to Rude: "This is so wrong . . ."

The bell tolled.

Reluctantly, Reno raised the gun to her head.

___Oh Planet, hear me now. Let him find himself. You said we shared a destiny, but if I don't get to bring him peace, let him find some other way to happiness. Please, let him not be in pain any--_

___Bang._

* * *

Author's Note:  
Song: Contrary to all appearances, this is not the last chapter. That would suck. I may be evil, but I'm not _that_ evil.  
Masamune: If I were evil, though, I'd say: give me 25 reviews and I'll post the next chapter. I _know_ that many people are reading.  
Song: But as it is I'll just say "thanks" to everyone who reviewed last chap. You _did _make me post early. And "sorry" for this chapter. I thought about apologizing in advance, but that sort of interrupted the flow. 


	29. Ille Iterum Veniet

Disclaimer: SE owns FFVII. But they ain't writing this fic.

Title Translation: That Man Will Come Again

* * *

_Gods, I'm too far away!_

Already, Aeris knelt before her executioner. Already, Reno raised his arm to fire-- less than a foot from her face.

_No!_

He swung Masamune around in his grasp, so that he held the sword longhand-- then with a whispered word for speed, he hurled it forward like a javelin.

Time slowed.

Aeris' brow furrowed in silent prayer.

Reno's finger finished squeezing the trigger.

The gun jumped in the Turk's hand as the bullet burst from the barrel.

And Masamune flew true, completing its downward arc, slicing the air between flower girl and pistol.

_Ting!_

The bullet met the blade and ricocheted, whizzing harmlessly past a guard's ear.

_Zlatch!_

Masamune drove into the ground all the way to the hilt, sheathing itself in stone. The impact sent cracks spidering through the execution platform.

Sephiroth hovered in the air, his arm still outstretched, completing the cast, his hair sweeping behind him in a sheet of silver.

The platform gave way. Reno stumbled backward, and Aeris was thrown to her hands and knees on the crumbling concrete.

* * *

A shadow fell across her, and she only had time to jerk her head up and see a dark silhouette before Sephiroth caught her by the waist. His other hand gripped Masamune's hilt, and he dragged the sword free. For a moment, he stood-- sword in one hand and Aeris in the other. Then, without a word of explanation to anyone, he shot skyward, the platform collapsing beneath him. 

Aeris clung to the straps across his chest. Once again, the speed of his flight tore the breath from her lips, once again her life depended on the mercy of his embrace. The thought flashed into her mind: _Oh gods, you saved me!_

_Or could this be an elaborate, sadistic game?_

She craned her neck, trying to meet his gaze. When he looked down at her, his expression was one she never imagined him capable of. She had glimpsed this face on that moonlit night when he first called her to his bedside-- when he pulled her to him and looked at her, really _looked_ at her, _seeing _her for the first time. Now, the green ice of his eyes shone as if they had melted. The remoteness in his face was gone-- replaced with an upwelling of such tenderness, of love and longing so intense it was almost painful to look on. He was searching her face as if to be sure it was really her, memorizing every feature, devouring her with his eyes.

_Oh, Planet, those eyes! If the sea could burn, it would burn this color. _

They were eyes to drown in.

He was out of breath, panting as if he'd just sprinted. "Aeris . . . " he said, touching down on the roof of a highrise. "Are you hurt? Are you all right?"

"Yes, I think so. What--"

He kissed her. His mouth covered hers in a panting caress and he jerked off a glove to bury his fingers in her hair.

She resisted, confusion and relief and doubt and joy all tumbling inside her. The hands cupping her head tilted her backward, deepening the kiss and his tongue pressed into her mouth. A deep shudder began in the pit of her belly and flowed outward, quelling her struggles, and she lost herself in the warmth of his embrace, in the sweet, dizzying flavor of his kiss.

Then the world exploded.


	30. Angel in Flight

Disclaimer: SE still owns FFVII.

* * *

Sephiroth spun around, his back to the detonating building, shielding her body with his own. The blast tore the breath from her lungs, and strands of their intertwined hair whipped her face. When she opened her eyes, a spell bubbled them and flames engulfed the bubble, but his intent, catlike gaze was still fixed on her. He held her-- oblivious to the thunder of bombs bursting, the groans of support beams snapping, the screams of people fleeing below.

"What _happened_?"

"Cloud," he explained, finally glancing up at the destruction. A flicker of annoyance darkened his expression. "Late, as usual." He seemed more irritated by Cloud's tardiness than by the destruction of one of Midgar's landmarks.

"I meant to _you._"

His half-smile twisted his face and he pressed a quick kiss to her temple. "I'll tell you everything. Stay close to me: the devil doesn't burn."

* * *

"There they are!" Cloud shouted. "He's still got her!"

He swung Fenrir around, gunning the engine to speed after them-- but burning rubble and twisted metal formed a bulwark all down the street, blocking his path. "Vincent, follow them!"

The ragged man nodded and changed to a faster form-- the red vortex.

"Leave it to him," Cid said through the com. "_We _need to secure the palace!"

Still, Cloud couldn't resist a last look over his shoulder-- and seeing the silver-haired monster quickly outpacing the man in red.

* * *

Even winded, Sephiroth evaded the explosions easily, twisting and leaping, slashing through debris and vaulting off falling rubble.

Aeris hardly had time to catch her breath, but Sephiroth remained unfazed by the attack on his capital. He even took the time to squeeze her arm reassuringly as he maneuvered between collapsing slabs of concrete and leaping flames. Being in his arms made the destruction seem like it was happening to someone else, or like it was an amusement ride.

Until an echoing boom rent the air.

A column of smoke leapt skyward, coming from the direction of the Shinra Palace.

"Marla!" Aeris screamed.

"She's safe. I fired her . . . And most of the other servants are here in the square."

"Let me see! Take me back!"

"No! Too many rebels! They _won't_ take you from me."

As if to prove him correct, a whirring sound came up over the horizon. The _Shera_. Through the windows on the bridge, she thought she could see Cait Sith, jumping up and down and pointing at them.

Sephiroth saw it too, or at least, saw the _Shera_, and his eyes narrowed. Pushing off from an I-beam, he began weaving through the rain of ash more purposefully.

He was retreating from the burning city.

_But-- how would _that _look-- their lord abandoning them? _

To make things worse, she could hear Cloud's voice over a loudspeaker, shouting the demands of the Resistance. Something about trials for war crimes, elections, free press.

She caught Sephiroth's eye as Masamune sliced through a concrete slab.

_He knows._

_He knows what he's giving up to be with me right now._

She couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face. "Seph--" The noise and heat and confusion made talking impossible. It was all Aeris could do to hang on to him, so she did, watching the burning city fall away beneath her feet, eventually giving way to residences, and then-- to barren rock.

A few abandoned hovels huddled at the edge of a ravine-- one of the old shantytowns that used to ring Midgar while Sephiroth expanded the city. Since that time, a little river had meandered its way into the bottom of the ravine, and a few scrubby, sturdy little plants gripped the canyon walls. The silver-haired man dove, and she thought he would land in the ghost town, but instead he plunged into the ravine. Aeris had the giddy sensation of hurtling headfirst toward water at the base of a fifty-foot chasm. He pulled up at the last moment and landed, lightly, on the stony banks of the river.

Clearly, he had forgotten how uncomfortable flight was for lesser mortals.

_Well, it's not like he carries passengers often. _

Above, it was still broad daylight, but the angle of the canyon kept the riverbank in shadow, giving the air a fuzzy, twilight look. Aeris glanced at her surroundings and saw a strange, beautiful dreamscape. She stood at the bottom of a canyon, so the sky was just a narrow strip of blue between two sandy-brown walls. All around her, twisting, lurid rock-formations jutted up from the slow-moving river. Most of these were wider at the top than at the bottom, or bowed in the middle like half-empty sacks of flour, or they were ruddy stone rainbows-- like the broken arches of long-dead civilizations.

_I didn't even know any of this was here_, Aeris thought.

Then he was touching her face, her hair, ignoring the ash that besmirched them both. "Are you sure you're all right, Aeris?"

The earnestness of his expression made her blush. "I'm alright, real--"

He pressed her to him again: a tight, fierce embrace. "Oh gods, Aeris--" He held her head against his chest, his grip like dark iron.

Tentatively, she relaxed and accepted his embrace. But when he tilted her jaw up to kiss her, she pulled away. It was jarring enough to come so close to death and find oneself abruptly jerked back into the land of the living-- if a miracle had occurred, she needed to know what it was.

* * *

Sephiroth, however, misinterpreted her actions, and he released her, holding his fists clenched at his sides-- something sharp twisting in his chest.

_Let all Midgar burn. I have to know if she can forgive me._

_Or if it's too late for us._

His skin still tingled where he'd held her against him, and he still felt the delicious warmth of her nearness.

"Do I repulse you then?"

"No!" she turned back to him, green eyes wide with surprise, "Of course not! I just-- what made you change your mind?"

"Ah, yes." He relaxed a little before answering. "I-- I got scolded by a friend of yours."

"Who, Cloud?"

"Not _him_. _Her._" He waved his arm to encompass the river, the canyon, the sky.

"Planet?"

He nodded.

"You're not serious!"

"I can only hear a little, and it seems to take a great deal of effort on her part too . . . I only know it has something to do with you-- with being with you."

"But that's impossible! That never happened to my mother! It must be something else!"

"Why does it have to be something else?"

_For me, everything has to do with you. _

"Because only Cetra can hear the planet!"

He shrugged. He supposed that he, also, should be bewildered by the fact that he could hear the planet now, but he had been trained to adapt quickly-- particularly to new abilities. "Well, maybe the sheer amount of mako in my veins acts as a substitute. Or maybe I have some Ancients' blood in me after all."

"That isn't very likely, Sephiroth. We were a dying race before I was ever born. When I'm gone there will be none of my kind left."

_And you almost _were_ gone today._

The thought was like the prick of a needle, leaving a burning sensation in his veins.

_. . . Maybe, it doesn't matter if she can forgive you or not. What if she slights you some other way-- and you _don't_ stop yourself in time?_

He had seen it a hundred times in SOLDIER: young men bright-eyed with romantic success, only to meet heartbreak a few months later. A few petty squabbles, a few nameless intrusions, and love poems changed to insults. How could he imagine he'd fare any better? He, who had no understanding of gentleness?

"Aeris, I-- what I almost did…"

"But you didn't."

_This time_.

In the Battle of Ingari Field he'd been exposed like this, vulnerable. There was no high ground to aim for and no cover-- just sky above and acres of white flowers. Flowers dotted, or soaked, in gore.

And she-- his perfect white flower-- she would strangle and die as he watered her, day by day, with blood.

_Planet or no, visions or no, you _will_ hurt her, no matter how hard you try to avoid it. You'll watch her dwindle and fade, all her glorious strength slowly sapped, leeched away by a thousand cuts._

_Or . . . You could hurt her once, terribly. A single, colossal hurt that she _will _never forgive you for._

_Leave her._

He shook his head and turned away.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "What is it, Seph?"

He smiled at the sound of the nickname, and turned back to her. "I--"

A shot rang out from the top of the canyon. The bullet whizzed past him, but it struck a nearby boulder and ricocheted.

Aeris crumpled to her knees, clutching her chest, a red stain widening between her fingers.

* * *

Author's Note:  
I am horrid.  
I am also not done with this story. It didn't even occur to me that this would be a good ending-point until people started telling me I'd done a good job wrapping up. I do intend to give at least one chapter's notice before I finish, so don't worry about wondering if an awkward cliffhanger is the end.  
I keep meaning to quit with the cliffys, but . . . well, betchya didn't see _this one_ coming. 


	31. Ancient Awakening

Disclaimer: SE still owns all this. Except for the work going into this particular story.

* * *

Sephiroth reached the top of the canyon almost before the sound of his scream did. With one clean, smooth stroke he sliced through two Resistance fighters. 

_Two left. _

One of them he recognized as the servant who had informed him of Aeris' imminent execution. Now the boy held a smoking bladegun in his shaking hand.

They must have been hiding in the abandoned shanty town, and Sephiroth saw now what he would have seen before-- had he not been staring at Aeris. Faint, covered tire tracks stopped at one of the huts, and communications equipment glowed under piled debris-- as if these four had been waiting for someone.

Who were they? Deserters, possibly, or comm operators who worked better under an open sky. If it were the latter, then most of the Resistance probably knew his position already.

"Stay where you--"

The boy with the smoking gun never finished his sentence, interrupted by a thin blade passing through his skull, between his eyes, and down his torso. His levelled blade-gun, too, was caught in the deadly sweep of steel, and fell apart in two symmetrical halves just before he himself did.

Meanwhile, the fourth attacked from Sephiroth's side, weilding a katana. Sephiroth only had time to take in the slicked hair, and eyes bright with a SOLDIERs shine. His sword was still in the servant who'd shot Aeris, so he sidestepped and pivoted, stricking a glancing blow with his fist and knocking the other SOLDIER backward.

Sephiroth swung around, blade free, facing the last opponent. His trained eyes took in both man and sword-- scanning, assessing.

"Seems we've found your weak point," the man said.

_Second class, from his stance. With second class taunts. _

His taunts were cut short when Sephiroth found what he'd been looking for-- a flaw in the other sword's construction. Masamune flashed out in a two-handed sidestroke, the force cutting through the SOLDIERs blade, then through the man himself.

"And it seems I've found yours," he said to a decapitated corpse. He had cut the mocking mouth in half.

_Aeris._

With a sweeping glance for any further danger, he dove back into the canyon. There she was: a too-still spot of pink. Pink and red. He landed on his knees beside her and Masamune clattered to the stony riverbank as he gathered her to him, cradling her against his bare chest.

"I'll kill them all, I swear it! They'll see everything they love burn in front of them--Aeris . . . my Aeris." Her cheek was cool and clammy beneath his fingers. She did not open her eyes, even though it must have hurt her to be moved-- if she were alive. "Aeris say something."

Silence.

_Congratulations, you stupid, selfish fool. You've managed to kill her, after all._ Hojo's voice sounded amused.

_I didn't . . . I wouldn't--_

"Aeris . . .?" He squeezed her shoulder.

_You still don't understand, do you? She was never for _you_. What made you think you were clean enough to touch her? What made you think _your _being near her could end any other way? _

He searched her neck for a pulse with his gloveless hand and felt it: faint, fluttering, half-imagined. He tore away the fabric of her dress, and pressed his fingers into the wound, trying to stop the blood.

_You could have protected her. All you had to do was keep away-- like you did for five years. But you had to have her near you, had to make believe you could keep her love. _

"I'll get help, Aeris." He knew some basic first aid, but he was no doctor.

_In _this _confusion… and when you don't know friend from foe? What if the "help" you bring kills her just to spite you? No, no. Better to stay here and watch her finish dying._

He closed his eyes, trying to find a measure of calm and focus his will on getting the round out of her body.

Aeris' faint breath changed to a rasping rattle.

_Pay attention, boy. This will be good for your education. You've let yourself get weak lately, so weak you tricked yourself into thinking you could taste normalcy. _

_Planet, help me! Where are you?_

There. He could see the bullet in his mind, a dark object in a pool of mako-green life that was _her_.

Partly with gentle spells and partly with his fingers, he worked the piece of metal out of her middle, making it rise from her.

_There! I have it! Now let me help her, please let me help her.  
_

He willed his own strength into her broken body, and for a moment, he thought the Planet had answered him, thought he felt power leave him, but Aeris remained still.

_You're being willfully ignorant, just like in Nibelheim. You don't want to admit what you are-- a little bloody puppet for powers stronger than you are._ _For you, there are only two choices. You can be a pawn of gods, or you can be a god of pawns__. . . Just as there have only ever been two choices for you and _her_. You can keep your filthy hands off her, or you can use them to destroy her._

_Shut up. Shut up! Stop! Stop it!_

But the torn fabric of her dress revealed a line of yellow-green bruises on her arms-- hideous marks his hands had made only three days before.

_Just look at what you are. You're part of Jenova-- the creature who hates the Cetra and all that they stand for. It doesn't matter what the flower girl is to you, or what you feel when you look at her. It goes against your very nature to let her live. _

A line of golden lightning crackled and danced around her heart, spreading outward. As if in answer, a ray of light pierced the canyon-- illuminating her where she lay-- as if the sky were opening to receive her.

Sephiroth leaped to his feet and caught up Masamune. He held the sword ready, but if this was an enemy, he had no idea how to fight it.

For a moment, she was engulfed by bluish sparks that rained down on her like a brilliant snowstorm. Her eyes flew open, and she she sat up sharply, nearly impaling herself on the sword above her.

_Oops. Almost killed her again, didn't you?_

Then she collapsed.

* * *

Author's Note: A little weak this week I think, but . . . I'm tired. That last bit was a variation on "Pulse of Life," although that shouldn't even kind of be possible. It's AU, remember?  



	32. Breaking Dreams

Disclaimer: I am still advertising SE's characters and world for free.

* * *

"Aeris?" 

A voice.

Low and deep and marvelous as distant thunder. She knew the voice: it belonged to a man with eyes like the sea aflame, and hair like white lightning. He was calling her, and she would come to him, though time and space, though life and death barred her way. She was swimming upward toward him through inky water, his voice the only indicator of the way to the surface.

"Aeris?"

The man had a name-- a god's name. More than a god's name. A name by which the divine was measured.

"Sephiroth." As she whispered the word, her lungs found the need for breath again and she gasped, her eyes flying open.

A white, sharp face bent over her, backlit by a strip of sky. Twin fireflies peered at her anxiously, and his hair spilled over his shoulders and tickled her cheek like silver feathers.

"Aeris, are you--"

"I'm alright."

She sat up, and realized that her blood-soaked dress was torn open to the waist. She flushed a little and tried to bring the torn edges of the fabric together.

"You're alright," he echoed.

She smiled at the stunned expression on his face. "Mmhmm. See?" She wiped at the red stain on her chest-- the flesh beneath the blood was whole.

"I didn't know you could do that."

"I didn't either." She screwed her face up in concentration again, and a last little bluish snowflake danced up the tear in her dress-- stitching it shut. She grinned down at herself, enjoying this newfound power, and looked up to get his reaction.

Something was wrong.

He was staring down at his hands-- one gloved, the other bare-- both slick with her blood.

"Seph, what happened up there?"

Only a slight tightening of his gloved hand indicated that he heard. He seemed to be-- bracing himself.

_For what?_

"There were some rebels-- I killed them. I don't think any of them were friends of yours." He got to his feet and paced a few steps, clenched fists dripping red. When he spoke again, his face was turned away from her, and his words came quickly, all in a single breath. "But Aeris, I wouldn't have stopped if they were. They trained me when I was young-- accentuated my survival instincts so I couldn't _stop _killing, couldn't even kill myself if I wanted to . . . I can see now-- I am bound to _murder_. _That_ is the dark thing in me that your brightness opposes. And it's what _I _am, Aeris."

"No, it isn't!" She was on her feet too, and she held her arms out, but he caught her by the shoulders and held her away from him. "There's more to you than that, Seph, _much _more--"

"Is there? I was an orphan from the day I was conceived, a slave from the hour I first drew breath. And I was _given_ away-- not sold. Sideshow freaks have more dignity than I had. All my life I was nothing but a tool for science, or Shinra-- or Mother. And now they call me 'Lord'-- just to mock the word-- because a slave who rules a city is a slave still, no matter what power or fame he gains. I told you I would be free if I became a god-- but I see now, even if I gained that, I would _still_ be _nothing_. And I _will not _let my chains crush you, little flower girl." Mako eyes bored into her. "So, when I tell you to stay away from me, it is because I want something _better_ for you."

"_What_?" Aeris whispered, shaking her head in utter disbelief. "Seph . . . What are you doing? Don't be-- "

He took her hands in his bloody ones, pulling them to his chest, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. His words, however, were relentless.

"There's a way out of the canyon behind you. Your friends should find you soon. I'm going to Midgar to gather my armies. Without you . . . Can you understand? You are my guiding star. I need you out of reach."

"Sephiroth . . . ?"

He swung away from her, catching up Masamune again. He took two steps up the canyon wall, but he seemed unable to keep himself from glancing back at her, and when he saw her face, he hesitated. His grip on his sword slackened, and he turned back to her, lowering himself to the ground just in front of her. His gloveless sword-hand cupped her face, and she clutched his wrist, as if by clinging she could stop his madness, hold him in this moment forever.

He brushed her lips with his thumb, leaving a single drop of blood there.

"Aeris, the dream is _over_. Wake now. Find your own future. Go to your friends. Go to the terrorists. Go anywhere. Just never, never come back."

She could hardly see him through her tear-blurred vision. Shock and hurt and denial all welled up in her, wearing away her already frayed nerves. In a single day, she had nearly died twice. Was she now to have her heart broken, too? This third death was worse than the first two.

It _couldn't _end like this, it just _couldn't_. Not when he had finally begun to grow a conscience-- a conscience that condemned him, drove him away from her. A sudden, unbidden tear spilled down her cheek.

"Aeris, please. Don't cry. Not for me. Can't you see there's something wrong with me? In some other Cycle maybe-- I could travel the planet with you, destroy anything that tries to hurt you-- but here, now, there is only one monster I can protect you from."

"And what makes you think I need your protection?" she snapped, dropping his hands to dash the tear away. Her anger was as abrupt as it was complete.

He closed his eyes then, and nodded at some inner thought. "That's better. Hate me, Aeris. It will keep you from crying."

"Seph, it doesn't have to be this way. Don't do this . . . _please_ . . ." The last word was a whisper.

He shook his silver-white head. "Not this round, my Venificulla." As he pulled away from her into the sky, he added something that she couldn't quite catch. It sounded like: "My only."

Then he was gone, rushing up the side of the canyon, bloodstained Masamune in his hands.

She rubbed the tears from her eyes.

_Planet! Planet! Give me words to call him back to me!_

A flash of red.

A gunshot.

The words that came to her were: "Vincent, _no_!"

* * *

Author's Note: The fic gets a little Vincent-centric at this point. I'm not really sure why, other than that I kind of like Vincent. (Second hottest of the FFVII bishies.) Oh, and I did mention there would be angst in this fic, right? 


	33. The Duel: Part One

Disclaimer: Props to SE. They came up with this world.

Author's Note: I got asked why the Turks are still Turks and why Avalanche is together. Well, in this 'verse Sephiroth bought out the Turks when he came to power. Avalanche . . . um . . . they kinda just are. Maybe they met at a party or something. Sephiroth's first annual Nibelheim barbeque. Cough.  
As to this chapter, I apologize in advance. Those of you who I've talked to a little more will understand why it is both pretentious and stupid of me to have even tried to write this. Oh well. To the obvious flaws, I say: "Relax. It's AU." Anyway, the only reason I can't bring myself to cut this scene down is because it took me a _really, really_ long time to write (two-parter folks,) so, against my better judgement, I give you: Vincent vs. Sephiroth.  
Also known as: "Fun with Limit Breaks."

* * *

Three bullets hit Masamune's thin blade and deflected. 

A swirl of ragged fabric whipped around in a scarlet whirlpool, then settled-- like a bird alighting-- into the form of a cloaked man.

Sephiroth landed too, his sword in a two-handed grip at his shoulder, point-forward, and Vincent noted a strange expression on the swordsman's face.

_Pain? Or-- relief?_

They faced each other: red and gold, black and silver.

Sephiroth moved first, leaping lightly and high. Another shot deflected off Masamune, then blade met gun with a clang. "You look familiar. Have we met?" the silver-haired man asked. His features had already settled into his more common expression: cool, mocking-- an ugly white war mask.

"I knew your mother." Blood red eyes stared into burning mako.

_And seeing you like this means more nightmares will come to me now. More than I previously had._

* * *

Sephiroth almost welcomed the gunshots. With his life in danger, his instincts drowned all emotions save battle fury, and he hid himself behind blurred steel and bloody death. 

"I suppose it would be too much to hope for you to mean Jenova," Sephiroth answered. Using both will and magic, he forced the gun free of his sword, hurtling Vincent backward into the remains of a house.

The abandoned shanty burst into flame. For an instant, Sephiroth thought there might have been explosives hidden in the house-- many of these empty towns had old chemicals left behind by Shinra-- but as the house crumbled, he saw that where the red-cloaked man had fallen, there was now a spiny, purple-skinned beast with thick, curving claws.

The beast snarled and hurled blazing orbs at him, which Sephiroth ignored, feeling only warmth and a rush of air whipping his silver-white hair. All around him, however, the abandoned buildings caught fire.

An explosion came from behind, apparently there _was _fuel in one of these builings, and black smoke boiled upward, blotting out the sky and turning day into night. Sephiroth turned just in time to slash through a twisted metal shard that came whirring through the air from behind him.

When he looked up again, the purple creature was gone.

"Ah, yes, I remember now," he said to the spreading fire. "You were the experiment in observation room five. I wasn't supposed to know about you."

A black shadow rolled between flames. A flash. Sephiroth saw the bullet coming directly toward his eye. He jumped, twisting out of the way and pivoting in the air to land on the roof of a burning building. Glowing eyes were not always an advantage, particularly when fighting sharpshooters this skilled.

Vincent appeared a moment later, his red cape leaping like the fire that surrounded them.

"It would seem Lucrecia's experiments were successful after all, then," Sephiroth said. "More or less."

Red eyes narrowed, flashing orange in the firelight. The wood was old, and the ghost town caught like so much kindling. "I know your story as well, Sephiroth. You are the sin I could have prevented-- the child I failed. I could have saved you."

"You Turks. Always giving yourselves too much credit."

Flames licked between holes in the shingling of the empty house. Vincent kept the triple-barrelled shotgun levelled at Sephiroth's head as they faced each other: shadow and flame. They circled slowly, finding footing amid the dancing fires. To one side, smoke boiled upward, on the other, the sheer cliff dropped away.

Aeris' voice came to them just then, above the roar of flames, above the creak and crash of burning wood and the pounding of blood in both fighter's ears. She had probably been screaming for some time: "Vincent, Sephiroth, stop!"

"You heard her, Turk. I'll leave the choice to you. If you go to her now, I won't prevent you. Or would you rather beg your _sin's _forgiveness first?"

* * *

Vincent hesitated, gauging the sincerity of the warlord before him. "I have no wish to fight you," he said, still aiming between Sephiroth's eyes. "What would I gain by defeating the son of that beloved woman?" 

"_Beloved _woman?"

"Yes, I loved your mother."

"_Why_?"

Vincent didn't answer, but the corner of his lip ticed and his grip on Cerberus tightened. It was not the contempt in Sephiroth's voice that angered him, but the perfect sincerity. This was not a taunt, but rather a disdainful, imperious, 'What_ever_ for?'

"Ah, of course," Sephiroth answered his own question. "You're both cowards. She spent her whole life terrified of Hojo, of me, of herself. And _you_ are a coward, too, Vincent. You fight with a _coward's_ weapon."

The roof caved under Vincent's feet. He twisted as he fell, evading flames, and kicked off a roofbeam-- propelling himself through a blazing wall. He tucked and rolled, like a ball of fire himself, tumbling into the street, digging his claw into the ground to keep from pitching into the ravine.

The rest of the roof collapsed, but Sephiroth was already running, running down the vertical side of the burning wall. He swung Masamune up and around, and the blade descended toward the gunman's head. Vincent blocked with his metal forearm-- silver and gold clanged together. They faced each other at an odd angle, Sephiroth still standing on the wall, Vincent holding back death with his gold arm.

Vincent brought Cerberus up sharply and fired, but Sephiroth saw the motion and twisted so that the bullet bounced off his metal shoulder pauldron.

He changed the angle of his force, snarling, "Get out of my _sight_," and he used the blade to fling Vincent backwards, sending him tumbling over the edge of the cliff.

* * *

Aeris stood at the bottom of the canyon, wringing her hands and hating her helplessness. She had stopped screaming, knowing they heard her, and knowing they intended to fight to the death. 

Black and red. Blade and gun. SOLDIER and Turk.

_Think_. _Think!_

_There has to be _something _I can do!_

But all she could do was watch-- not wanting to see, unable to look away-- as the fatal ballet played out before her-- at first on the stage of the ridge above, now on the side of the cliff.

Vincent caught himself on an outcropping, and blocked Masamune with the palm of his gold hand. Sephiroth held himself parallel to the ground, standing on the vertical rockface as if it were a horizontal floor. Even so, this gave him only a slight advantage, because Vincent found footing effortlessly and bounded from crag to crag-- firing as he leaped.

She could see them more clearly now that they were on the cliffside-- in sunshine instead of smoke. The sharpshooter stood on a hairsbreadth ledge, his robe snapping around him like a ragged standard: a blood-colored weight on his head and shoulders. Sephiroth, above him, crouched on one knee-- Masamune point forward. His trenchcoat fluttered like raven's wings, and a black "X" secured over his heart.

She could even see their faces.

Vincent's bloodless features bore a sad, remote expression, almost-- preoccupied-- although his aim was sure and true as ever.

And Sephiroth . . .

She had never personally witnessed this side of Sephiroth. Even the clip Lyssa and Jonathan showed her revealed only an impassive, detached SOLDIER, monstrous in his efficiency. Then he was frightening more because of his lack of expression than his expression.

This was something else. He was like a blade himself, each perfect, chilling feature curving gently into the next. So calmly cold, so unperturbably, unselfconsciously wicked. His features were locked in a soldier's scowl, and he seemed not to hear her when she called to him.

_This is what he meant when he said he couldn't stop himself-- even if he were fighting my friends._

But for a moment, even as her lover and friend battled above her, she saw him in her mind's eye: a child, head shaved like a prisoner of war, huddled in a corner, hugging his knees.

_I meant to have this place torn down when I first took power, but the architects were ranting about structural integrity . . ._

The wide arc of Masamune, the obsessive need for _space _around him-- all vestiges of a claustrophobic childhood. Every swing and every slash was directed against the four walls that still held him.

_Oh gods, what sick irony! All that he's made, all that he's become, is built on that whitewashed hell-- the room where his hatred was born._

* * *

"Don't fight me here, Vincent. We'll ruin the flowers," the silver-haired man said, smiling mirthlessly. 

The blade decended again and Vincent dodged, feeling the rush of air as the sword sang past. Masamune bit through fabric and into the stone behind him. As the man in red jumped free, he created a fresh tear in his tattered cloak. He swung Cerberus around as he jumped, but too late-- the blade was free. Sephiroth lunged, and Vincent leapt away again-- but this time, steel was waiting for him.

The smooth blade sliced through Vincent's side, passing easily through two ribs and pinning him to the cliff. Vincent clutched at the wound with his gold claw and red-- liquid, not cloth-- showed between the talons. He aimed and fired again, but Sephiroth saw the gesture and jumped back, twisting Masamune as he did-- so that pain flooded the gunman's side. Flashes burst in Vincent's vision.

* * *

Sephiroth raised the sword for a killing blow, a decapitating one, but the blade met -- a saw. 

The figure facing him now was no longer a gaunt, ragged man, but a lumbering creature in faded rags, wearing a white mask and weilding a chainsaw.

_How many forms does he _have?

This figure was considerably slower than the others, and it seemed to have difficulty finding footing on the narrow ledges of the rockface-- moving awkwardly, with a heavy, zombie tread.

Then it struck.

It moved faster than Sephiroth imagined possible-- the saw flashing out in a series of blinding arcs. The first sank into Sephiroth's right thigh, cutting through the muscle with a spray of blood. He barely had time to parry the second blow, deflecting it so the impact did not touch him. A third blow came at his right shoulder and the fourth straight at his face. He intercepted these-- but the power behind them was impressive. He kept them from doing serious damage, but the one to his shoulder nicked his pauldron. The blow aimed for his face was ferocious, and seemed designed to startle him more than anything else. Sephiroth realized why a fraction of a second too late.

The final blow struck him in the swordarm, straight through to the bone. He kept his grip on his eight-foot blade, even as his own blood soaked Masamune's blue tsuka, and ran red down the silver edge.

Below him, he heard Aeris scream.

_Amazing . . . I underestimated him. _

Of course, he knew how to use Masamune with his off-hand, but it was a damned nuisance at best-- and who knew what Vincent was still capable of doing?

All this flashed through his mind in the time it took for the Vincent-creature to finish sinking its saw into his arm. Sephiroth seized the mask with his uninjured hand and drove the white, featureless face into his knee, then kicked the creature backward into the cliff.

As it hit the rock wall, it began to change back.

Sephiroth saw his opening.

Masamune plunged through Vincent's human wrist, like a shaft of moonlight slicing through him, and Cerberus tumbled down the ravine, winking as it fell, punctuated by a soft splash.

"Ego te absolvo, Valentine. You could not have prevented my creation any more than you could have prevented your own," he sneered.

_Consider this extreme unction._

Vincent, eyes screwed tight in pain, gripped Masamune with his gold-clawed forearm and ripped the sword out of his own flesh. As he did so, his body changed.

It began as a violent tremble that shook the sword, then the pallid face went--impossibly-- whiter, and Vincent's eyes snapped open. They were red no longer, but a burning yellow-green.

The tattered cloak swept up around him-- changing into enormous, tattered wings-- and the cloth of his turban wound into his black hair becoming a series of raging, jagged spikes.

The face remained the same, except for the eyes and teeth-- which were longer and sharper. But the facial expression was twisted: unrecognizable and unrecognizing.

Sephiroth held his position, sword ready. Despite himself he felt a strange-- kinship for the man before him.

He did not like feeling that way. He wanted to lose himself in a tide of blood, familiar rage and familiar violence, anything to forget the flower girl below and what he had just done.

The creature gave a roar that sent Sephiroth's white hair flying behind him. Sephiroth snorted in reply, and leaped to meet the creature in the air.


	34. The Duel: Part Two

Disclaimer: SE still owns all this.

* * *

"No! No! Vincent, no!" she screamed, but it did no good. 

With all her attention fixed on the lethal dance, it took Aeris a moment to hear the other sound that came from the top of the cliff.

An engine.

A faded yellow truck came rattling over the top of the ridge. A steep strip of loose gravel wound its way down to the bottom of the ravine, and it was to this narrow path that the driver directed the car.

Light reflected off the windshield, and Aeris shielded her eyes to catch a glimpse of who was driving.

It was a woman with brown-gray hair.

For a second, Aeris just stared.

When she found her voice, she only managed: "Marla?"

* * *

Sephiroth jumped not a moment too soon, because even as he did, the cliffside began to change, crumbling and shifting until it formed-- a face. 

A hideous, blood-red demon face with eyes that flashed violet.

Burning skulls leaped up around it, skulls that followed him as he tried to evade.

Any normal human would have been crushed instantly, but Sephiroth had the advantage of being able to fly.

So did Chaos.

They met-- blade clanging on claws. Leather coat and leather wings flapped, and around them the skulls shrieked as they attacked.

Higher and higher they rose in a flurry of blows. They cleared the rock wall and continued ascending, nothing but sky and the smoke of the ghost town around them.

It was like fighting four enemies at once-- three of which were gallingly fast. He scored a glancing slash across Chaos' chest, but had no chance to press the advantage because a burning head saw the opening and attacked.

He spun around just in time to slice the skull in half, and Chaos took advantage of his distraction and swiped at him with a heavy claw. Sephiroth twisted out of the way of the blow, but as he did so, something struck him, solidly, in the back, stunning him and knocking the breath from his body.

_A skull._

The last skull hit his injured arm and pain lanced through the wound. The final hit was worse than the previous one, but it took Sephiroth a moment to realize why.

_Gods. I'm on fire_.

This was no natural fire-- it burned even him, and his flesh bubbled and blackened, skin melting into leather or peeling away in crisping shreds.

Chaos dove for him again, but Sephiroth was ready this time and he swept the blade around in a flat sidearm slash with all his force behind it. A horizontal rent swept through Chaos' wing.

But the blow took both hands, and the wings were tougher than they looked. The flames scorching his swordarm flared fiercely as they went out and Sephiroth screamed, not in pain but in rage, as Masamune fell from seared fingers.

The blade dropped end over end and plunged into the water beneath.

Vincent, meanwhile, was changing. The wound to his wing, combined with the completion of the skulls' attack, weakened the Chaos form and it was shrinking, beating its injured wing uselessly. Vincent seemed to have no control over this process, because he was turning back into his human shape-- a hundred feet in the air.

Both men were weaponless, and both badly wounded, but Sephiroth knew himself to be stronger, and Vincent-- though he could leap like a gazelle-- could not fly.

Sephiroth collided with the other man in midair, driving his armored shoulder into Vincent's chest, knocking the breath from him.

They tumbled together through the air-- black and red, streaming white hair tangling with cropped black.

* * *

"You were _supposed _to _keep _the rose!" Marla said as she skidded to a halt directly in front of Aeris. 

"You're alright!"

"It had a tracking device in it--"

"Marla, please, you have to help me! They're killing each other!"

Marla flung open the car door and got to her feet, talking as she did so. "I never would have found you at _all_ if I wasn't coming here to talk some deserters into coming back--"

"Marla!"

"Sorry. I'm listening."

"Well, _they're _not!" Aeris was almost in tears.

"_Make _them listen-- with _this_." She flung open the back door, revealing a loose pile of silver weapons-- and one long, tri-colored staff.

It was this latter that Marla pulled out and thrust in Aeris' direction.

The staff was topped by a golden bird-like figurine, shining wings outstretched-- like a standard. But the bird itself was one Aeris did not recognize: some rare, fragile creature long since extinct. It bore an inscription on its breast, which Aeris could not read, but she recognized the delicate, swirling script of the Ancients.

Beneath that, the rod was an iridescent white, like mother-of-pearl. This was followed by a section of crimson, redder than blood.

_That's the section to hold-- so that the staff takes blood from the weilder's hands and keeps you pure. _

She did not know how she knew that.

The base of the staff was matte black, seeming to suck the light from the air around it. Like his coat, only without the glossy sheen.

Aeris reached for it, and as soon as her fingers touched it, she heard a sound in her mind, as if all the birds in the Lifestream suddenly burst into song.

She sucked in her breath, but did not let go, only ran her fingers up the strange weapon. It should have been a heavy, unfamiliar weight in her hands, but it wasn't.

"I knew it! I _knew_ it would know you," Marla breathed.

"Where did you _get _this?" Aeris asked.

Because the pole was alive.

The mother-of-pearl section sang under her fingers like a choir of souls-- souls of pious ancestors who kept themselves blameless. The scarlet shouted the war-readiness of ancient heroes. Only the black base was silent and cold.

"It's called the 'Princess Guard.' It was given to me in my more adventursome days by a young man who said he'd been to the Temple of the Ancients-- and he brought this back as proof," Marla answered. "Somehow, from the first moment I saw you, I thought it belonged to _you_."

Aeris half-expected her visions of other Cycles to come flashing through her head-- but none did. Nevertheless, she, too _felt_ that this staff was hers, hers in every reality where she existed . . .

"Aeris, you can stop them. You are stronger than you know."

As Marla spoke, Aeris knew it was true. In the last few hours something had woken inside her. Something powerful. The successive stresses of the past days had stirred up a long-silent gift, some Cetra ability of which the healing snowstorm was only the beginning. Now, holding the Princess Guard, she found she was no longer a helpless bystander-- but a warrior in her own right, capable of defeating both Vincent and Sephiroth if necessary.

"Marla . . ." she looked up at the older woman, and her hands clenched around the Guard. "I'd thank you properly-- but I've got a fight to stop!"

She spun on her heel and ran down the embankment, back toward a spot on the river where two figures faced each other.

"I know, dear, I know," Marla called after her.

Aeris barely heard her. She was running across loose shale and shifting gravel, her light footsteps kicking up sprays of pebbles. She had the power inside her, she just had to find a way to unlock it. As she ran, she did what she always did when in doubt: she began to pray.

* * *

As they plummeted into the canyon, Vincent kicked free, hurling himself away from Sephiroth. His back struck a twisted arch of rock and he bounced into the river, disappearing beneath the muddy water. 

Sephiroth turned in the air and landed on his feet on the water's surface, just as if he were touching down on solid earth-- except that his impact sent a rippling shock wave through the water. His eyes swept the canyon, and he saw the place where Masamune had wedged itself in the rock wall. Before he could make a move, however, a sodden red blob leapt from the water and blocked his path.

Sephiroth laughed shortly. "After all those experiments, and everything they took from you, you still managed to keep your Turkish pride." He briefly considered flying over his opponent, but the other man still looked capable of jumping high and fast, even though his stance indicated pain on his left side, and blood mingled with the water that he spat. "It's a pity for you, really. If you were less self-absorbed, you'd be less appalled by your own failings."

Sephiroth focussed his thoughts, and green-blue sparks appeared at the end of each fingertip. He regarded Vincent levelly as the sparks gained power and brightness, watching the ragged man crouch, ready. The glowing orbs burst from Sephiroth's hand in a fountain of green and blue and Vincent leaped backward, still keeping himself between the silver-haired man and Masamune.

But Sephiroth had not been aiming for him.

The sparkling blast hit the river and the water surged upward, baring the riverbed and forming a wall of water. The water thinned toward the top, and Sephiroth spread it thinner with his mind.

He found what he was looking for, and leaped for it.

Too late, Vincent realized what Sephiroth was doing. He saw the wall of water ripple, and the white-haired man burst through, coming straight towards him, Vincent's own gun levelled at his head.

The ex-Turk leaped away, twisting in the air so that he landed for a moment on the cliff face, defying gravity as he crouched perpendicular to the rock wall. He snatched Masamune from its resting place in stone, and dodged a bullet as he vaulted away. Apparently, Cerberus was none the worse for having sunk to the bottom of the river. He turned to land on the riverbank, facing the silver-haired swordsman.

* * *

Sephiroth regarded the sharpshooter, smirking slightly. "Do you really think you have a chance against me?" 

He couldn't resist asking. The eight-foot blade wobbled in Vincent's grasp and his stance was a novice's. The sight reminded him of his own first, blundering attempts to weild the unfamiliar weight: Masamune was not kind to amateurs.

"Actually, I'm at an advantage," Vincent's voice was soft, velvety.

"Mmm?"

"If you shoot me, by your own admission, you will be a coward. If I kill you, that makes me a hero."

They began to circle one another, a wider circle than the first, and Sephiroth stepped off solid ground onto water while keeping the pistol level with Vincent's head. They faced off now in an odd parody of their first clash. Two wet, Shinra-trained experts, holding weapons they rarely used. Vincent kept the sword up and at the ready, but he held it like a club-- a far cry from Sephiroth's easy grace. Sephiroth kept the gun trained on Vincent, but he held the weapon gingerly with his off-hand, his swordarm dripping red. His was a collector's knowledge, not a marksman's.

"You are the one who should concern yourself with cowardice, not me. Had you been a little less craven, and a little more-- inclined to vice-- you could have killed Hojo and taken Lucrecia for yourself," Sephiroth said. "Or at least killed Lucrecia for spurning you. But no. _Your _brilliant solution was to lock yourself in lead for thirty years. _You were_ made_ for each other._"

He fired. Vincent sprang away, Masamune a silver arc trailing behind him.

"And what were _you _made for, Sephiroth?" he called from a new perch on a rocky outcropping. "Surely not to kill off other Shinra experiments?"

_Her. I was made for _her.

"I was made to rule this world," he said instead. "I am hell's dark harbinger. The calamity from your midst."

He aimed again, this time not for the man himself, but for the direction he expected him to leap, but before he could fire, the sky burst open.

At first, Sephiroth did not notice the rain. Both he and Vincent were soaked through, so it occurred to him rather belatedly that the water falling on him was not from the river finding its banks again.

Sephiroth glanced upward just in time to see the skies part. A breeze swept down to stir his wet hair, light slashed into the dark ravine . . . and three figures appeared in the sky. White creatures with shining, snow-white wings.

_What the _hell?

He glanced back at Vincent, but the ragged man was still in his human shape. He saw her then, on her knees before a thin staff, the base of which was buried in the ground.

_Aeris._

Golden light swirled around both Vincent and himself, whirring up from where their feet touched the planet, and their skin glowed golden-- Sephiroth could see it on his one, ungloved hand. And Vincent's face, which had been so pale as to make his own look nearly freckled, gained a glimmering, golden tinge.

"Aeris, what are you--?"

He felt a cool surge rushing through his body. It made his heart feel-- light: a cake with six blue candles, a hero's welcome in Midgar, a clean, new blade sharp enough to slice silk that fell on it.

The gash on his swordarm knit together, as did the other cuts he'd suffered. Vincent straightened, and the dirty water dripping from them dissolved into a fine mist, leaving them clean. Sephiroth risked a glance downward, and he saw that even the tears in his clothes were repaired.

* * *

Vincent saw his chance. 

_Odd that he should be so distracted by Aeris._

The former Turk did not pursue the thought though, because whatever she was doing, it made the pain in his side vanish and, more importantly, gave him the opening he needed. He tightened his grip around Masamune's hilt, and as he did so he noticed the odd, goldish tinge to his skin. For the first time, his human hand matched his claw.

_She's done something to us._

He could only hope it was something that would give him an advantage. He broke into a run, hefting the heavy sword to his shoulder. He leaped high, teeth bared, the blade straight before him. At the last possible instant, Sephiroth jerked his head up and fired.

As the flash burst from the gun, Vincent tried to twist out of the way. But there was nothing to twist off of, and the heavy blade threw off his balance. The bullet sped through the air, reflected along Masamune's straight length, and it struck him-- more by luck than by skill-- in the neck.

And bounced.

Still mid-leap, Vincent saw Sephiroth's expression change, his glare faltering in amazement. But the calculating scowl reappeared as if it had always been there, and when Vincent collided with him, Sephiroth was ready.

The white-haired man snatched the sword by the blade with his free, ungloved hand. Masamune should have sliced his palm directly in half, but Aeris' magic prevented it.

_She made us indestructible, _Vincent thought, realizing the truth, and realizing that Sephiroth had understood first.

Holding the sword by the blade, the white-haired man used Masamune like a sling, hurling Vincent sideways toward the canyon wall. Vincent anticipated the motion, and even as he sailed through the air, he kept his grip on the swordhilt and planted his feet on the rock-wall.

He felt the impact sharply on his knees and ankles, and stone cracked beneath his pointed boots.

The golden light was flickering.

Masamune finally started to cut through Sephiroth's skin.

Instinctively, the swordsman swivelled the enormous katana between his fingers, bringing Cerberus up as he switched to a lighter two-handed grasp on the blade's dull edge. Vincent used the momentary lapse to release the swordhilt and jump for his weapon.

_Too far._

As his hand closed around Cerberus, Masamune pricked the skin at his throat-- and stopped.

Sephiroth stood inches away, not even panting, and Vincent glared back, waiting for the end.

_Why didn't he strike to kill?_

They did not break their mutual glare, not even when they heard Aeris' rapid footfalls crunching towards them, nor when her voice rang out again: "I said: _STOP IT!_"

Sephiroth, however, inclined his head toward her, as if he wanted to look her way.

Vincent's eyes narrowed.

Something was odd about the way they interacted. Sephiroth had offered to stop the fight-- at _Aeris' _request. He could have stayed and fought at Midgar, but instead he fled the city-- taking her with him. Even now, he chose a stalemate, when he might easily have driven the sword home.

_Why? Because I am Aeris' friend?_

Vincent had seen his share of prisoners, and as a Turk had been responsible for a few kidnappings . . . This was not the way abducters treated their captives.

_What happened this last week? Could he have-- fallen for her?_

Somehow, knowing Aeris, that did not seem entirely impossible.

And what about her? Surely she could have protected only one of them . . .

Vincent tested his theory in one smooth motion.

He fired his gun-- at Aeris.

He aimed to miss, but from Sephiroth's angle, it would look like a fatal shot.

The Lord of Midgar was in front of Aeris in a flash, the thin arc of Masamune sweeping before him in a blurry shield. The ex-General's, cool, contemptuous gaze turned to pure, glowing hatred.

"You would _dare_--" the swordsman seemed unable to finish the sentence.

_Good gods… He loves her. And she…_

Aeris' hands were up again, ready to cast a spell. Ready to protect Sephiroth.

Vincent lowered his gun.

* * *

For a moment, Sephiroth's burning mako gaze bored into Vincent's blood red one. Then green eyes narrowed with understanding. He knew he had been _tested_. 

Aeris seemed to understand too, because she approached the silver-haired man and laid a hand on his arm. At first, Sephiroth gave no sign of even being aware of her presence, then, slowly, he lowered his sword and stood glowering at Vincent.

"You may take her back to Avalanche," he said at length. "I'm sure you have been _missing _her." Then he closed his eyes, and his face softened as he turned back to Aeris.

Vincent could only stare as the tall man gently brushed a lock of hair away from Aeris' face, touching her as carefully as an eggshell. When he spoke to her, it was too low for Vincent to hear.

* * *

A sad smile flickered on his lips. 

"Aeris . . . my little springtime, it _is _time for us to go our separate ways. Can you understand?"

"_No_, Sephiroth, I _won't let you do this_. You _can't _push me away, not _now_!" She reached for him, the Princess Guard still humming in her hand, but he stopped her by catching the rod's emblem, his gloved hand forming a black cage for the golden bird. He swung the staff sideways, using it to bar the gap between them.

"They'll hunt me, Aeris," he said. "They won't stop until I'm dead."

"I could talk to them, Seph. Cloud would listen to me, and the Resistance will listen the him."

"_Should _they, though? Do you have any idea how many people I've killed?"

Aeris had no immediate answer to that.

"Just know this: for those few days when I had you in my house, I was free. I was a real person. Not an experiment, not a toy soldier. I had my own decisions, my own feelings, my own-- heart . . . Here. Take this and think of me. I don't want you to be cold." He stuck his sword in the ground and shrugged out of his coat-- shoulder armor and all, draping it over her shoulders and clasping it in front. It was big enough for her to swim in, trailing on the ground, the pauldrons almost up to her ears.

He quirked his little twisted smile at her. "You wear the silliest things, thanks to me." Then, without warning, his gloveless hand was on her chin, and he bent towards her.

_A last kiss._

_A last quivering, salty kiss. _

A sound made him jerk his head up, breaking them apart. The _Shera _appeared over the ridge, and Aeris could make out Cloud standing on the bridge, sword drawn.

Sephiroth caught up Masamune in a flash.

"Take her and _go_, Cerberus," he said without taking his eyes off the _Shera_. "Leave Hades to his darkness."

"I cannot do that," the man in red answered. "She is not interested in coming with me."

Sephiroth spun around. "Are you both insane?" Pain sharpened the silver-haired man's voice. "Aeris _go_! Leave me!"

"I _won't_! Sephiroth, you're being a _fool_!" She caught him by one of the straps criss-crossing his chest, but he seized her by the shoulders and pushed her roughly into Vincent.

"You leave me no choice then . . . For _you_, Aeris." The last words were a loud whisper, then tore up the cliffside toward the _Shera_.

By the time the gunman righted her, Sephiroth was already nearing the top of the cliff.

_What's he doing? He let Vincent go-- he _can't _mean to fight Cloud! _

Then, with a sudden, sickening certainty, she understood.

_Oh gods. Oh gods, not that._

_Anything but that._

"Vincent, help me stop him!"

The ex-Turk met her eyes for a split second, his unreadable, blood-colored gaze studying her, then he gave a slight nod.

A tattered red wave descended over her and Aeris got an occasional glimpse of sky, or shrubs, or the canyon wall through swirling crimson. Vincent had switched to his red vortex again to carry her up the cliff, and Aeris found she was glad for the change, wanting to reserve the feeling midflight embraces for Sephiroth.

Then the ragged blur settled into fabric, and she was on her feet, Vincent behind her. His was cloak wrapped around her, and he held it by the edges, like a child making wings from a cape.

He let her go immediately, sweeping the red rags behind him.

A blast of magic hit them both.

* * *

Author's Note: Thanks to Ardwynna M for betaing this for me. Ardwynna, you are why, for better or worse, I apologize a bit less profusely for this chapter. 


	35. Sacrifice

Disclaimer: I am playing with SE's characters and world. For free.

* * *

The Princess Guard fell from her hands as Sephiroth's spell caught them, lifting them off their feet so that they hovered, paralyzed above the ground. The rod glinted on the rocks, promising strength just beyond her grasp. 

"I can't . . . move . . ." Vincent managed.

She could not move either, could not even draw enough breath to cry out. It was so difficult to blink that Aeris was forced to give up and watch wide-eyed as the nightmare scene unfolded in front of her.

_Sephiroth, how can you do this? How can you make me watch you . . . Oh gods, oh gods._

He was going to do it, too.

He was going let Cloud's blade kill him.

_Why? Why when he knows I love him, when he knows he loves me too? _

_. . . He also knows that he's struck me, cursed me, was planning to kill me until two hours ago._

The swordsman stood straight, a tall black candle lit with silver flame. His gloved hand was palm-up in an effortless gesture-- almost as if he were receiving something, instead of holding two fighters captive with a fearsome manipulation spell.

But Aeris knew he was channelling all his will into wave after wave of paralyzing magic. He was deliberately distracting himself, trying to overcome Shinra's training.

"Vincent . . . " Her voice sounded like it would not carry past her lips, let alone to Vincent's ears, but the ex-Turk managed to turn his head slightly. "Stop . . . struggling."

If neither of them tried to break free, it would take less effort for Sephiroth to hold the spell. Then when Cloud attacked, instinct would take over.

_But will he have enough resolve to lose? Am I sacrificing Tifa's happiness for mine?_

_Sephiroth! Sephiroth you stupid, crazy fool, let me help you!_

Tears of fury and frustration beaded in her eyes, and Aeris managed another blink, spilling syrup-slow tears down her cheeks.

"Sephiroth! Let them go!"

Cloud's voice rang out over the canyon. He was leaning off the side of the airship, ready to pounce.

_Cloud, don't! Please, don't!_

Sephiroth tensed, and his grip on Masamune's hilt tightened, but he did not turn to face his challenger. His outstretched hand lost some of its casual grace, and he kept his eyes fixed on hers, using her as a reference point to block out the scene around him.

_No, Seph, no! Not like this! Why can't you trust me? Why can't you believe in_ us?

"Sephiroth!"

_Cloud, are you blind? Can't you see he's shaking with the effort of _not _killing you?_

Because he was. The gloved fingers trembled now, and he forced Masamune into the ground, as if he did not trust the sword to stay at rest.

Cloud jumped from the airship, descending on the Lord of Midgar blade-first.

Still Sephiroth kept his gaze on her, his body shaking with sheer effort of will. She pleaded with him with her eyes.

_Don't do this! If you let him kill you now, I'll feel like it was _my_ hand that drove the blade home!_

But Cloud was already falling toward him, and at last Sephiroth moved. He threw himself to his knees, clutching the sword half-buried in the rocks.

The spell broke, and Aeris pitched forward, landing face-first in the dust. Her hand closed over the Princess Guard, and she leapt to her feet.

Only in time to see the buster sword slam through Sephiroth's back-- its wide, blood-stained blade erupting from his chest.

For an awful instant, Sephiroth remained still: head bowed over his swordhilt in a soldier's prayer. He lifted his eyes to hers one final time, and smiled: a small smile without a trace of mockery. Then blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and the green glow of his eyes dimmed-- went out. His silver head dropped forward as he passed, silently, beyond her power to heal.


	36. The Funeral

Disclaimer: Square Enix owns the characters, setting, etc.  
Author's Note: I apologize ahead of time if there is a delay in getting the next chapter up. Will do my best.

* * *

Aeris did not remember what followed very clearly. She remembered hurling herself at Cloud, swinging at him with the Guard, then, when he took that away from her-- pummeling him with her fists. She remembered Tifa and Vincent pulling her away, and the sting of skinned knees as she fell to the ground, burying her face in her hands.

She remembered the canyon echoing with a keening wail, an animal shriek of despair unrecognizable as her own.

By the time she came to herself, night had fallen. Barrett had a little fire going and Yuffie was roasting something over it. Tifa was with them, rubbing her bare arms, even though it wasn't cold.

Vincent, Nanaki, and Marla were talking together in low tones.

Cid and the airship were gone, as were the bodies of the two men Sephiroth had killed. Cid had probably taken Cloud with him, because the blonde man was nowhere to be seen.

Cait Sith sat a little apart, batting flies away from Sephiroth's face.

The dead man lay on his back, looking heavy and grayish even in the firelight. Someone had folded his hands over his breast, covering the wound and the break in one of his harness straps.

He was at rest.

_Planet, I wanted him to find peace. But not like this . . . Never like this . . . _

Fresh, hot tears joined the sticky mess drying on her face.

She thought about covering his face with his coat, but found she could not bring herself to part with it while the scent of him still lingered on it. He had given it to _her_, and she needed some part of him to cling to.

She swallowed a sob, then stiffened abruptly as she overheard what her friends were talking about.

They were discussing what should be done with the body.

"We can hardly give him a hero's burial back in Midgar . . ." Nanaki said. "And I still say the ground is too loose here. Something could dig him up."

"Besides, we should take him through Midgar first." This from Vincent. "We need to prove to his supporters that he is dead."

Tifa made a hissing noise, and said something low and sharp. Aeris lost most of the reprimand, but it was something about "too long in a coffin."

Marla spoke up a moment later, "There's a waterfall not far from here. If Aeris would agree to it, we could put him in the water there-- the lake is deep."

"A pyre," Aeris said, and all of them looked up at her, even Cait. "A pyre. He would have wanted to be burned."

* * *

Aeris found him, gods only knew how, in the shadow of the boulder he had crawled behind. At first, she didn't said anything, just sat with him, looking pale in the darkness.

The dirt streaking her tear-stained face accused him.

_Why didn't I believe in you, Aeris? Why didn't I believe that you-- your understanding-- could reach _anyone_, even him?_

"I know you're sorry, Cloud," she said finally. "But I'd like to hear it from you, all the same."

"Aeris . . ." He shook his head.

She smiled, sadly. "I know. To say 'sorry' is to try to fix what's between us. I know you, Cloud. I know you'd almost prefer the rift, because it hurts you maybe more than it hurts me. Still . . ."

He sighed. "Aeris . . . If what Vincent says is true, I'm so, so much more than sorry . . . Even when he told me, I didn't believe it. I thought Sephiroth tricked you into feeling something for him. I still _want _to believe that, maybe because I just don't want to think about-- what I've taken from you."

"I--" she started, then choked. "You didn't know. You didn't know because he didn't want you to know. It wasn't really you that killed him. It was Shinra, and Hojo-- they made him believe he wasn't good enough to be loved." She turned her face away. When she spoke again, it was to change the subject. "We're going to burn him. I'd like it if you came."

She looked like she could use an arm around her, but Cloud really didn't want that arm to be his. To his relief, Tifa came crunching towards them over the dry ground. As soon as the dark-haired girl touched her, Aeris broke down, dissolving into wracking, hiccuping sobs.

_Oh, gods. She can't even see how she's driving the knife in deeper._

And suddenly, Cloud saw their situation as _she _saw it. _He _was the one who had wronged her, even if inadvertently-- but leaving a break between them hurt her too. The comfort that Aeris wanted right now was the comfort of forgiveness, of mutual acceptance.

Awkwardly, he joined Tifa in embracing her, and he hoped that she saw that he was apologizing not just for hurting her, but for the fact that he could not grieve the madman's death.

* * *

Only after they built the makeshift bier did it occur to Cloud that Sephiroth might not burn. His spells, which were so much a part of him as to be nearly part of his flesh, might still protect him, even in death.

But Cloud shook the thoughts away, knowing that if worst came to worst they probably had magic enough between them to take on a dead man.

The funeral, if it could rightly be called such, was short and simple, relying heavily on ceremonies each of them had witnessed. No one had much of their own to add: the usual, funereal compliments would seem like obvious platitudes for Aeris' benefit. And Aeris . . . usually so cheery and open, was all but silent in her grief.

Cloud opted not to say anything other than, "I am so very sorry. So very sorry." And even those words sounded hollow. For a brief instant, he was tempted to add something about Sephiroth never laughing or smiling or getting angry again, but he really never did the first two things anyway, and, since he was angry all the time, the last point was moot, too.

Then he felt guilty. He wished, sincerely, that he could be sorrier for Aeris' sake. But that was the whole problem. He knew that she wanted him to be sorry for _Sephiroth's_ death, but as much as he wanted to comfort her, he wasn't sorry that Sephiroth had died, not really. He was only sorry for hurting _her_.

By tacit agreement, she was the one chosen to light the bier. Cloud watched her light the stick that was serving as a torch, but she hesitated before touching flame to wood. Instead, she stuck the torch in the ground-- and climbed up next to the body.

He took a step forward, having a sudden, panicked mental vision of her lighting herself. But she only bent down, and kissed the cold, stiff lips, then sat beside the body, and slipped her arms under him. The corpse was heavy with death, but Aeris cradled him anyway, rocking him, smoothing the silver hair.

_He was never once held that way in life_, Cloud realized.

The image burned into his mind: a pale girl in pink, and a paler man in black, dark shadows flickering over both of them.

_It is right that someone cries for him_.

And, though he had never expected to, suddenly, his own eyes filled with tears.

Not for Aeris, this time. Not for Sephiroth's death, either. But for his life . . . for all that had been taken from him, for who he might have been.


	37. Goodbyes

Disclaimer: I own nothing belonging to Square.

* * *

The flames consumed Sephiroth's body easily. It seemed that death actually reversed whatever fire spells had preserved him in life, and the corpse drank in the fire like summer grass.

An ember gave Vincent a new hole in his tattered cloak, and Yuffie, who had been standing close by, staggered backward as green flames raced over the still form, swallowing him sword and all.

It was over in less than a minute, leaving not even charred bone among the ashes.

Aeris stood a little apart, the long black coat draped over one arm, her Princess Guard in her hand. She, alone, seemed to have expected the fire's effect.

"Thank you, all of you, for staying with me now. I know this couldn't have come at a worse time," she said. Then she straightened, squaring her shoulders. "Let's go back to the palace now. There's a place I want to destroy with my own hands."

* * *

When it was over, the palace lay in ruins, having toppled in on itself once the labyrinth of laboratories below was destroyed. Avalanche went to meet with the Resistance and begin planning for Midgar's future, but Vincent chose to stay behind with Aeris, crouching beside her in the dust and rubble.

"He loved you, you know."

She was silent a long while before replying. "He never said so."

"He spoke with his actions. You meant more to him than his empire, more to him than his own life."

Aeris started to cry again, and Vincent, after some hesitation, touched her shoulder: offering the cold, metallic comfort of his claw. She neither accepted nor rejected the contact, but even when she finally stopped crying, her green eyes had never looked so sad.

"I am leaving the city," he said, "Perhaps you would like to come with me."

"Where are you going?"

"Away."

She smiled then, a sad smile, but for a moment she looked a bit more like the spry flower girl from the slums.

"Away is where I want to go, too."

He nodded, but remained where he was, sitting beside her in silence.

"I'll say my goodbyes to the others, then. Are we going anywhere in particular?" she asked.

"Nibelheim."

"Nibelheim," she echoed. "Of course. You miss your coffin."

Something about the way she spoke made Vincent narrow his eyes. In her tone, he heard an unspoken addition: "I miss my coffin, too."

He chose not to press the point. "My time has passed," he said, "Shinra and Sephiroth are both gone, so there is nothing to bind me to the light. You, though, may be needed here."

She sighed, as if the weight of breathing in and out were crushing her.

"No," she said, "No. For me this does not end until I find its beginning."

"And all this began-- in Nibelheim."

* * *

White.

A featureless expanse of shining silence.

His hair spread out, long silver strands drifting behind him as if he were underwater, and his black leather pants rippled in dark, silent waves.

A voice rang out: _"And where are you going in such a hurry, young man?"_

The voice was like rushing water and birdsong, rustling leaves and distant thunder. He had not been aware that he was hurrying, had not been aware that he was _moving_, but he stopped now, feeling vaguely chastened, although he was not entirely sure why.

"Mother?"

"You _again?_" said the voice. _"How many times do I have to tell you? It will take all the ancient skills of the Cetra and all the ingenuity of the humans to grant you rest. There has only ever been one who has those powers. You know who I speak of?"_

He did.

_"You're one of the lucky ones, you know. Yours has been praying for you: that's why you're here. Now back you go. And this time, for all our sakes, _try _to_ remember_."_ The voice came again, faint and frail. _"Goodbye for now, lost son."_

White rushed passed him.

A rat scuttled over his shoulder and nuzzled his ear.

Light…

Darkness…

* * *

Author's Note: The Jenova, you know. Why would dying be any easier for him than living?

* * *


	38. Midgar

Disclaimer: SE owns the FFVII universe/characters. Until I destroy you all and ascend to godhood.

* * *

"I was hoping you could talk to her, Vincent." 

The pallid man looked at Tifa blankly.

"It's been _months_ and she-- well, she just isn't her old, cheery self at all."

"Her old, cheery self had secrets."

Tifa gave a soft snort of acknowledgment. "I _know_, I still can't believe she didn't tell us about Sephiroth, about how she felt about him."

"Would you have told, if it had been you?"

"I suppose not," she said, sounding as if she had trouble imagining herself in the situation. "I've tried to get through to her, and I thought we were really getting somewhere when you two agreed to come back to Midgar, but she's spent the whole time hiding in that old church with her death blossoms. She keeps saying she's fine, but that only makes me worry more. It isn't healthy, what she's doing to herself and,well, I'd just feel better if I knew someone else was keeping an eye on her."

"I have been watching her." _She sleeps under his coat, cries suddenly and for no reason. _"I will try to get her to come with me to the election celebration tonight."

Tifa tried to hide her surprise. She hadn't really expected him to come himself, let alone bring a date, but she only said, "Thanks, Vincent."

As she walked away, it occurred to her that the unlikely relationship made sense: heartbroken Vincent and heartbroken Aeris could find something like happiness together. And, though it clearly wasn't what Aeris wanted, Tifa thought Vincent made a far better choice than her silver-haired-- friend.

* * *

A figure in a gray hooded cloak approached the city of Midgar. Above him, sunset splashed the sky with purples, reds, and oranges and he moved silently, like a long, eventide shadow himself. He paused for a moment on a ridge outside the city, surveying it before he descended.

Midgar looked different.

Busier.

No guard stood at the city's entrance to check for travel passes. No one even raised an eyebrow at the enormous sword at his hip. The populace had certainly grown more-- colorful. In the street, two children played at sword fighting. That would have gotten both them and their parents watched by the secret police before the coup.

It seemed he had come on a particularly festive day. Brightly colored banners lined the walls, strings of lights stretched across the streets, and music poured from open windows. He passed more than one person who was clearly drunk, although the sun had not yet set. A poster announced the occasion: Midgar was holding its first elections.

A farce, Sephiroth knew. Sheep needed a shepherd. But it made them feel so terribly _important _if they thought they had a voice.

He paused when he found a poster with Marla's face on it. She was running for governor of Sector 6, and Rojel was listed as one of her supporters.

He smiled and shook his head.

"She _would vote for Marla."_

He pushed the irritating thought away.

The strange, leafy-sounding voice had plagued him off and on from the moment he woke, making him feel like he was forgetting something important.

Something about Aeris.

At first, the voice was indistinct, a whisper echoing down into the depths of his crater far in the North. He had ignored it. Then it changed tactics: assailing him with visions of her in trouble, until he needed to see that she was alright, that his sacrifice had not been in vain.

She _must_ still be alive, though, because the voice rang out clearer than ever. He would have to be careful to keep her from seeing him. If all went well tonight, if he caught a glimpse of her and no one recognized him, perhaps he would allow himself to come again, visit her in her sleep like a dark, possessive angel.

_No._

If she was to be free of him, she would need a barrier between them-- something as final as death was supposed to be. But even death had failed him: evidence that he was not part of the natural order, but rather, a disease and a curse, a piece of the disaster from the sky, the antithesis of everything she was. He dared not forget how close she had come to death because of _him_ and, if his darker visions were to be believed, how he might yet destroy her.

The other turns of the Cycle were sometimes grim indeed. He had seen himself kill her a hundred times in fits of rage or jealousy, or worse-- cold cunning. He saw himself strike her or-- oddly enough-- use Cloud to strike her. And then there were the rapes . . .

It made him want to sleep forever-- seal himself away in the frozen darkness of the North-- where his kind first met hers. At times, he even dreamed of _her-- _sweet mirages that left him panting and gasping, hungering for her with a helpless desperation.

Then he would lie awake, missing his nightmares.

The shadows darkened, and the multicolored strings of lights cast their splotchy kaleidoscopes over the streets. He threaded his way through revelers, making his way toward the palace.

Would she still be there? Or would she be on the outskirts of the town, peddling flowers again?

_No. Her friends had power now, and they would want her with them as an advisor. Who better to inform them of the ecological consequences of their actions?_

But the palace was gone.

It looked as if it had collapsed in on itself, crumbling from the inside out. The entire structure had been destroyed from its very foundation.

_Or from beneath its foundation._

The thought made him feel-- lighter. Shinra, Hojo, the Great General . . . all gone for good.

A new structure was already being built above the ruined stonework-- something far simpler and uglier. Soon, everything he had done here would be forgotten.

_Well, almost everything._

Despite the bombs and the construction, a few princess bells dotted the grounds around the ruined palace.

He reached one long, pale hand down to pluck a stem of pink blossoms, and stood, considering it with glowing eyes. A fresh burst of music, louder than any he'd heard since arriving, distracted him, and he tucked the flower away and moved to get a better view.

He had not flown much since regenerating, and the skill came back to him slowly. He 'slipped' three times on his way up the metal skeleton of the new structure.

_This was probably not the best time to relearn._

Even though the palace grounds were pleasantly deserted, and the structure left many convenient places to pause, there were also no lights on here, and when he lost control, he almost missed the handholds in the gathering dark.

The music had changed more than once by the time he stood astride the metal skeleton, gray cloak curling around him, sword straight at his side. He saw the cause of the noise now: a little outdoor dance floor constructed a few blocks away, bright with lights and dancing clothes, loud with celebration.

Then he saw _her_.

He took a step forward, and his hand went to his chest, the other reached for--

He stopped himself.

_She's alright. She's fine._

That was all he had wanted to know, and he had been willing to risk discovery to find out. Her friends had not rejected her for sleeping with him. He did not have a clone who came to kill her. She survived the chaos of the coup.

She did not need him.

_Just one last look, then._

He focused all his enhanced sight on her. She wore a white, summery dress with a blue floral pattern and she sat a little apart, looking like she wanted to be elsewhere.

_Aeris, my Aeris, you look beautiful tonight. Just like you never had a murderer drag you into his embrace. I can go away now . . . and remember our night together._

But he stayed where he stood.

Let me see you smile once before I go. Let me know you're happy. 

Then she _did _smile.

At Vincent.

The Turk extended a gold claw out to her, and drew her out into the dance. Sephiroth's sharp green gaze followed them until the music changed to something slower, and he had to look away.

_What did you expect? Did you think she would wait for you forever? This is what you wanted, wasn't it? To find her alive . . . and smiling._

But his knuckles were white on Masamune's hilt, and the festive lights blurred as his vision swam.

"_And if she isn't? If she still craves your touch as you do hers?"_

_Then she wouldn't be dancing with the damned _Turk.

But, she wasn't dancing with the Turk anymore. Vincent had handed her off to Barrett, and she was smiling up at the one-armed man now. He noticed that she kept some distance between herself and her dance partners.

_Not the way _we _danced at all._

He breathed again-- realized he had not been breathing before.

"Rooftops are not as inconspicuous as one might hope. People may not look up often, but you're not invisible."

He recognized the voice, and did not turn.

"Not if you're wearing _red_," he replied.

He loosened Masamune in its scabbard, but did not draw it. Metal boots clanked on the concrete behind him.

He waited for the sound of a pistol being drawn, or a gun cocking, but none came. "You know about _us_, then?" Sephiroth said. It was half-challenge.

"If you mean you and Aeris, then yes, I know. She will be glad to see you."

"How is she?" He turned then, wanting to see the gunman's eyes as he answered.

"Ask her yourself. No one will sound an alarm if you come with me."

Sephiroth tightened his lips and looked away.

"I will bring her to you, then."

"I came to see her, not to have her see me." His voice was fierce. "Now _how is she_?"

_I'll have the truth, even if it is from _you.

Vincent paused a moment before answering. "She is as well as can be expected, believing that the man she loves is dead. Dead without ever telling her he returned her feelings for him."

The silver-haired man frowned into the darkness beneath him.

Her words came back to him:

"_Sephiroth, let me! Let me! Let me love you!"_

"You are to help her forget-- and it seems you're doing very well."

"She would rather remember," Vincent said. "Go to her. If you told her you wanted her, she would never leave you."

"Then it's a good thing I never told her!" Sephiroth snapped over his shoulder, tilting his head so his hair hid his face. "You can't possibly understand. I know what I am-- and I know what _she _is."

_For every vision I see of us together, I see another-- dark twin to the first . . . And I have the proof of my inhumanity in this new flesh._

"It is better for everyone this way," Sephiroth added. "She _will_ forget me, in time."

"If you believe that, you are either a fool-- or you don't know her nearly as well as you pretend."

Sephiroth whirled on him.

"I came here for _one _reason: to see if she is happy. I find her smiling, dancing--"

"She is _not _well, Sephiroth. She sleeps clinging to your coat. She cries at nothing, at everything. She wakes up calling for you in the night, and refuses to tell anyone what she's dreamed. She spends her days tending the flowers you gave her as if they were part of _you_. She is _burying herself alive_."

The general absorbed this in silence, looking back down at the Cetra and seeing-- for the first time-- the way her white-blue dress hung off her thin frame, the dark circles under her eyes.

_Aeris . . . Aeris, no. I told you to move on. I told you to--_

A gold claw caught him by the shoulder.

"You would let her live like _this_?"

"Better she live like this than die at my hands!" Pain and anger sharpened his words, and he spoke louder than he meant to.

Their eyes met, and Vincent's black brows relaxed into something like pity.

"So it is your guilt that keeps you away. You're so much like _her_."

"I am _not_ like Aeris."

"I meant your mother."

Sephiroth glared and jerked his arm free. "You know _nothing _about me," he spat.

"Perhaps not," Vincent said, "But I did know Lucrecia. She let her guilt drive her away from me, drive her to a man she did not love. All because she could not recognize her own feelings, and did not dare reach for them when she did. And you-- will you bind yourself to the isolation you hate, rather than risk going to her?"

He did not want to listen, hated Vincent for making sense. But suddenly, looking was not enough.

He had to touch her again, had to make her stop worrying about him, even if all he had to offer her was more pain, even if seeing her destroyed him.

Vincent seemed to misread his long silence, though, and he said: "At least let her know you're alive. That is all _I_ have, and some days, it is enough."

"Fine, then," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll go."

_This must be why the Planet would not let me rest. She must protect the last of her children, and it is _my_ duty to protect Aeris too, and keep this madness from killing her. _

_I _will_ see her. _

_Only I can make her stop wanting me._


	39. Reunion

Disclaimer: Square owns all the stuff Square came up with.

* * *

Vincent landed on the handrailing of the elevated dance floor, dropping to a crouch beside Aeris. A few people gave startled yelps, but Aeris looked down and away, her hands going to her cheeks as if she were brushing away tears.

"I was starting to wonder where you were," she said, too cheerily. Her eyes shone, bright as a SOLDIERs. "You went through all that trouble to get me to come here-- I wasn't expecting you to stand me up!"

"We all saw him die, Aeris."

The cheery smile vanished.

"We all saw him die--"

"I know," she interrupted quietly, not looking him in the eye. "I know, I'm being silly."

"I don't think you are being silly."

She looked up then, saw his sincerity. "Thanks. Maybe you understand-- I just keep turning around and expecting to see him. And Planet says… well it's hard to believe-- it's hard to be _sure_ what Planet says. But I see these visions--" Her voice began to wobble.

"Aeris, since we all saw him die-- if you found a silver-haired swordsman who wanted to meet you in private . . . well, it clearly couldn't be the same person."

Vincent felt something like a smile flicker across his face. Aeris just stared at him.

"You-- you think he's alive, too?"

"I have thought so ever since you started laughing again. There was no reason for you to finally start recovering-- but you were different overnight, as if your spirit had returned to you. That was weeks ago . . . Now, I am certain."

"Gods," she whispered, "You've seen him."

* * *

The sacredness of the place accentuated the silence. Sephiroth walked quietly, not wanting to disturb the shadows. The place was clearly _hers_-- from the flowers blooming in the cracked floor, to the corner where his coat lay folded neatly. The coat smelled like Aeris now, so he left it where it was.

One of the stained glass windows was missing a corner of its pane, and Sephiroth paused, looking out a little wistfully at the small graveyard, where a few cramped headstones leaned against each other like broken teeth.

But he had said he would meet her in here.

Here in her own, private space.

He let out a shaky breath and ran a hand through his silver hair, bracing himself to spout half-truths and outright lies. He had discovered, in the last hour, that he had been inventing these lies for a long while now, in little half-played out scenerios in his mind. Part of him had known that this day might find him.

He had taken off the cloak, leaving him dressed now exactly as he had been when he died. White shafts of moonlight slanted through the holes in the ceiling, and he stood in one of the moonbeams, raising his pale face to the sky, his torso glowing white in the shadows.

He was considering putting the cloak back on, not because he was cold, but so that he would look a little less ghostly-- when the door swung open.

He spun around.

The sight of her face-- lighting up as her eyes met his, was sharper than the blade that killed him.

* * *

"Oh Planet, it _is _you."

_Shirtless, no less._

She ran to him, forgetting Vincent-- who was nodding his goodbye-- and threw her arms around the man she had dreamed of, wept for, loved.

He smelled like steel and sorrow, like leather and loss.

He tensed, rigid in her embrace.

Something was wrong.


	40. A General's Kindness

Disclaimer: I have no intention of infringing on any of Square Enix's beautiful and copyrighted works by writing this story._  
_

* * *

_Gods, this was a mistake._

He should have foreseen this-- this power she had over him, should have run the moment he saw her-- but somehow, he could not tear his eyes away. His reaction time was faster than any creature alive, but he stood rooted to the ground, able only to watch as she ran to him, flung herself into him.

And like a fool, his arms were around her, mind reeling from the scent of her hair, from the press of her soft warmth against his chest. He tried to force his face into its customary white mask-- but somehow, it was difficult this time, and his arms trembled in protest when he caught her by the shoulders-- and pushed her away.

"Don't touch me."

_Merciful gods, let her hear only the Great General . . . not the man who fell to his knees at the sight of her-- even when she was sick and unwashed for three days. Not the lover who took her body and gave her the secrets of his soul._

"What is it? What's the matter?" She let him disentangle himself from her, but stayed close to him, so close he could hear the rapid flutter of her heartbeat if he listened for it.

"Nothing is the matter. I was told I should come because you have worried on my account. There is no need."

Her eyes.

In the faint light they shone like dark, polished jade. "Sephiroth, are you-- is this about what you said before you--?"

"Before I died?"

She nodded. "Because if it is, I want you to know I've thought a lot about why you said what you did-- and I think I understand now . . . We were starting something new together, and it meant leaving everything you've known behind you. That's frightening-- and fear can make you hurt those close to you."

Two mental visions leapt into his mind. In one, he walked arm and arm with her through sunny gardens: a maze of roses and heather. He held her hand possessively, carried her over little brooks and patches of mud, but it was she who led the way.

In the other, he stood above her as she died, face twisted with blind fury. He wore Jenova's head on his belt, and Masamune went through Aeris' breast, pinning her to the ground. She lay on her back, her face serene, smiling at something only she could see.

_"Child, the choice is yours."_

_The choice was Lucrecia's._

But Aeris' voice was a sweet spell, slow and calming, thickening the air and dizzying him with doubt-- where before there had been only certainty. "And besides," she said, "I know what they told you-- when you were a boy and when you were a young man in SOLDIER. They told you that if you crushed Wutai and made a spectacle of everyone who opposed you, then the war would end quickly-- and ultimately, you would save lives. That was what you were trying to do with me-- save me against my will. You were giving me a General's kindness, because it is the only kindness that you have ever known--"

"Stop."

Each of her words whispered an unspoken promise: pure and beautiful as flame. If he kept listening, he would burn. If he kept listening, he would believe they had a chance at happiness, that he could forget the nightmare of blood that was his life, throw her down among the lilies, and take her, immolating them both in everything she offered, give her everything she asked for, give her-- _what_?

A life with an impoverished war criminal, a man whose tenuous grip on sanity could snap at any moment-- leaving her bloodied or dead.

_Gods. I killed you, I _killed _you._

_I killed you in those other realities because Mother hates you, and if I've regenerated-- so can she._

_I am Jenova's son . . . And it goes against my very nature to let you live._

"That is not why," he said, "I have changed since regenerating."

He lifted his head again to look her in the face.

_Say it. _Say _it, damn you. _

"I no longer have any feelings toward you."

The words echoed: a lie profaning the sacred silence.

_Is it really a lie, though? Or the deepest kind of truth?_

He was an experiment, what did he know of love? Was it really love he felt, or simple attraction-- accentuated by the forbidden sweetness of her Cetra blood? Was he truly _capable_ of love? Or was real love one of the many joys denied him from birth? He _loved_ steel and blood and murder. He only _wanted_ her.

Her eyes searched his, looking for a crack in his defenses, a trace of the man she knew.

"I don't under-- It isn't true," but her voice was strained and high, edged with fear-- as if she were convincing herself, not stating a fact. "_Tell_ me it isn't true."

_Show nothing, show nothing, show _nothing

"You were important to me before. As you are important to your friends now. As for me, my concerns are no longer--"

"Then run me through," she said.

"What?"

"If you mean what you're saying, if you really don't want me, then you've killed me already. Do me the favor of finishing it!"

Tears were welling in her eyes.

"Aeris, don't be--"

"Do it or I'll do it for you!"

_Gods, she's serious._

He should have known how stubborn she would be.

"Aeris, you have always known what I am--"

"Don't tell me you're who you used to be!" she cried, closing the slight distance between them. He tried to be gentle as he pushed her away, but she wasn't making it easy, and she struggled titillatingly against his arms. "I _must _mean something to you, because you've _changed_. When we first met, if I'd _asked _you to, you would have killed me without a second thought!"

"Not _you_." The words were out before he realized the significance of them.

"Why not? Why _not_? Was it because you loved me?" The tears were flowing freely now, shining streaks of moonlight. "If you want me too, just _say_ so! Sephiroth, _please_!"

_Gods, I can't do this. I _can't.

Her skin was touching his, fresh and fragrant, like warm roses. The way she twisted only made him ache more fiercely. In her, was everything he craved, everything that he himself was not.

_One kiss, just one. _

A memory assaulted him: one of the videos from his childhood, one they had shown him repeatedly over several months to particularly drive home. A priest in a church much like this one, raping a boy. In the blue-white light of the stained glass lighting, the child's hair had looked silver.

_How long could I really expect to be gentle with her? How long could I hold myself back? _

And if he faltered, even for a moment, the mental line he drew between her and every other soul on earth would vanish, and her screams would blend with a thousand others--the dark choir in his mind. She would be the faceless murder victims he saw in his nightmares, she would be the Wutaian whores Shinra had brought him, and she would lie beneath him bloody and broken, her perfect beauty leaking crimson into his gloved hands.

_Gods, better to die. Better to die a thousand times. _

_Better to kill her, even, than hurt her like that._

_Better still to break her heart._

_. . . I do this to save you, Aeris. _

"You _don't_ want _me_. You want what you think I _could_ be-- _if_ I stay with you, _if_ I let you _change _me. That night, when I was careful with you, you made love to the man you wish I was, not to me."

_To the man _I _wish I was._

Her eyes widened in disbelief as he spoke, and her answer was a high, ululating scream. "Don't you ever, _ever _say that to me again! You _know _it's a lie!" She raised her hands to pommel his chest, but he caught her wrists and pushed her backward firmly, sitting her down amid the death blossoms at her feet. "Yes, I want to help you," she said, and now her voice was brittle and breaking. "Yes, I want you to change. But in the way that _you want_. I want you to be _your true self_! I want you to be _free_!"

Her tears ripped at him, and he knew already that the peace of his nights was beyond repair. How could he ever dream of her love again with this new picture searing itself into his mind: her face shining with tears from the hurt _he _had caused. And _still _she reached for him. Would he have to strike her to make her hate him?

"Is _this _what you want?"

He unfurled his new black wing, stretching it to its dark limit so that it spread like a glossy inkstain-- black in the shadowy church.

"When God hurled Lucifer to earth, the legends say he tore away one of the fallen angel's wings, so the devil could never return to heaven. Look. _Look_. And know that when you are old, and surrounded by grandchildren-- you will _bless this day_. I have no heart to give you, and no life to share."

He leapt into the sky, bursting up through a hole in the ceiling in a shower of splinters. But he could not resist a last look back, and he saw her heart-shaped face upturned, moonlit tears glistening in the shadows.

_I belong in your memories, pretty pet. Not in your arms._

* * *

When he heard Aeris scream, Vincent spun around and vaulted down the street, leaping from ground to ledge to rooftop. 

_Gods, what have I done?_

Everything he knew about Jenova came flooding back to him. She was a devious creature: in her time, she tricked the Ancients into trusting her so that she could exterminate them. And Sephiroth was her son, her prodigy. Was it as Cloud feared? Had Sephiroth fooled even Aeris into believing that he cared for her-- in order to get her alone and destroy the last of that race?

It made no sense, but neither did Aeris screaming. Sephiroth would not have let anyone hurt her.

Except himself.

Vincent landed on the rooftop of a nearby building just as Sephiroth burst through the roof of the church. The gunman hesitated only a split second-- taking in the sight of the immense black wing that stretched from Sephiroth's right shoulder-- then he leapt forward and collided with the other man.

"Sephiroth! What have you done? What happened to her?"

What happened to _him_? Had his death activated some latent Shinra experiment? Did he now have other forms as well?

Sephiroth gripped Vincent by the forearms and-- almost gently-- disengaged himself.

"Take care of her, Valentine." He spoke quietly, then pushed Vincent away so that he tumbled down, down through the rotting roof and landed heavily in the flowers.

Vincent was on his feet in a flash, and he crouched to spring after the swordsman-- but he caught sight of Aeris, and stopped.

She sat nearby, hugging herself as if she were about to shatter. Vincent's first thought was that she had been stabbed, or beaten, because her tear-streaked face looked gray and bloodless. She seemed past tears now though, all the fight gone out of her.

"Aeris?" Vincent knelt beside her, reaching for her wrist to check her pulse.

She did not answer immediately.

"Aeris? Do you need help?"

She looked at him with an expression he had never seen on her before: vacant, hollow-eyed. "Ever since he-- went away, I've thought of nothing but seeing him again. I thought of a hundred ways I might bring him back to life . . . And now I see-- I was waiting for _this_." Her face crumpled like scratch paper being discarded.

"I am sorry; I never imagined--" Vincent said. "What has he done to you?"

"He-- doesn't want me."

Vincent gripped her forearm with a fierce urgency. "Aeris, listen to me, you must not believe that." He fixed his red eyes on her face, willing her to listen. _Is this part of my punishment as well? Or is it the doom of every older generation to watch the younger repeat their own mistakes?_ "You _must not _believe it."

"Why not?"

"Because he _lied_."

She shook her head. "He was very convincing, then."

"Yes. Yes, he would be . . . But I talked to him before he came to you. I saw him watching you-- he loves you, whether he can admit it or not."

She shook her head even more-- a slow, strong denial-- as if to blot out the hope he offered.

"Aeris, he is doing the only thing that comes naturally to him. All his life, he has been wanted for one thing: his strength. You want him now when he is at his weakest, and he does not understand. You frighten and confuse him, but you _are_ everything he wants. When he fights you, he fights his own happiness-- just as he has always fought his own happiness, fearing it will prove an illusion."

"How do you know so much? We aren't you and--"

"I _saw _the way he looked at you. I am certain of what I saw."

She seemed to consider this, worrying her lower lip. "Vincent-- I don't want to force him to be with me-- if he doesn't love me. I know you think I'm strong, Vincent, but I couldn't take that-- chasing after him, if he-- if I made him--"

"Aeris, _think_. Was there anything in what he said tonight that would explain why he would want you to believe he does not love you?"

She frowned, and for a long moment she seemed to be listening to a voice that spoke to her alone. "At first, I seemed to be getting through to him-- but then, after the vision of him running me through . . . Sorry. I see visions, Vincent, of him and me together. That's one reason he's always so fresh in my mind. But the visions are dark sometimes. Before he died, he told me he could hear the Planet a little. Maybe-- maybe he sees some of the visions, too. If he didn't know any better, he might think of them as-- destinies, not choices that we made in other universes." Her brow cleared as she spoke, pieces fitting together in her mind. "He might think we have a chance at happiness in some other Cycles, but given how difficult things have been for _us_, then this is one of the universes where we are fated to destroy each other."

"And a good general looks at the big picture, weighs the risks, and chooses the course that will save as many as possible," Vincent replied. "And he will kill or maim or _lie_ to ensure the best outcome. Remember his childhood. He was not bred to make choices like a normal person. Everything he ever truly wanted-- a friend, a mother's love-- were always out of his reach. How is he to know that it could be different now-- when he has had no experience building, let alone maintaining human intimacy? Surely you knew this would be difficult for him: now you know just _how _difficult."

"Add to that, he doesn't feel that he _deserves _happiness. He doesn't feel that he deserves _anything_ . . . He's always out to punish himself-- just like _you_." Aeris had loosened her grip on her arms, and the light was back in her eyes. She leaned over abruptly-- and kissed the gunman on the cheek. "Thanks, Vincent."

She hopped to her feet. "Where is he? Is he still here?"

Vincent shook his head. "He's probably out of the city by now-- He can move fast when he wants to, and he'll be avoiding people now. But if anyone could find him, it's you . . . We'll go after him. Some of the others will want to help, too. I know Cloud will. I'll gather supplies, and get us a transport. Wait here."

* * *

But when he returned at dawn, with the rest of Avalanche behind him, he was not entirely surprised by what he found. 

The church was deserted.

She had gone to Sephiroth alone.

* * *

Author's Note: Vinny you're awesome and I love you. I'm sort of sorry for not hooking you up in this fic.  
:cough: Be proud of me. I'm early. (I get to be late on the next one. Will be on vacation for several days next week.) 


	41. Dreams

Disclaimer: Doing this for fun. Square owns all Square-copyrighted stuff.

* * *

His mouth slanted over hers as he deepened the kiss. 

_Yes, I _will _take her here, here beneath the sun, with all these flowers as witnesses._

The scent of her hair mingled with the scent of earth, of green life, of the white, sweet-smelling Wutaian blossoms. The field was wide, coverless, and he had no wish to be covered.

His knowing hands traveled down her waist, more intimately acquainted with her body than with his own.

Her eyes opened and he paused to take in the sight of her, of her sparkling irises that matched the green of the restored battlefield.

_If I am death, then she is life. And she has conquered me, as these flowers have conquered the bloody field. Life the victor; life triumphant._

The scene shifted. He was on his knees before her, his face pressed lightly against her rounded belly, his hands cupping her distended middle, and he gasped and grinned as a tiny kick pulsed beneath his fingers. In her womb, a little fist pushed outward, travelling beneath his fingers and against his cheek.

Her hands fingered his hair.

There was a perfect, glorious wonder to the way her stomach curved, swelling with promise. He almost wept in awe of her and the tiny creature inside her. He almost wept with the sense of belonging that was his-- here on his knees before his beloved.

He tilted his head to look up at her. Her face had filled out and she looked tired, a little wan, but she glowed with timeless protectiveness.

_Life the victor._

_His_ child grew inside her.

Flesh from his own flesh.

New life from his life.

"Aeris . . . I just want you to know . . . you have _never _been more beautiful to me than you are right now."

And she hadn't.

* * *

He sat up sharply, panting hard.

The cool, dank cave dripped darkness around him.

_Oh gods… oh gods…_

_I'm alone._

* * *

He staggered out to the mouth of his cavern, shaken more than he cared to realize. In the weeks since crushing Aeris, he had eaten little and slept less, feeling himself dwindle like Echo in her cavern. He supposed he was free now, as free as he ever would be. He had no responsibilities; no one had any designs on his future. His days blended with his nights, becoming a gray fog: a tearless, silent scream.

At first, he tried to keep from thinking of her, but he found that the effort served no purpose. She was his life, and all that remained of him now was a haggard wraith: the walking memory of _her_.

He wondered what she did with her days now, if she had found a new love, if she lay now in the arms of some other lover. She would like that. Someone who could love her back.

Often, he lingered at the mouth of the cave, resting his silver-white head against the scrubby scarlet flowers that struggled up from between dry stones. 'Blood flowers', they were called, or 'Ancient's blood' because they grew only near Cetra ruins.

The cave he had chosen lay between Bone Village and the Sleeping Forest. She would have liked the half-unearthed treasures that the miners abandoned, would have _loved_ the dead city that lay beyond the woods. He felt curiously akin to the pale, luminous shell houses there: empty husks left behind by the Cetra.

He thought, though, that perhaps this fondness for the dead city was only some vestige of Mother, who had wanted the entire world to be like that city.

Sometimes, when loneliness or despair threatened to drive him insane, he killed things. He would let himself get lost in the woods, or wander the dry plains outside his cave, slashing at anything unfortunate enough to cross his path. All of these creatures were less challenging than human opponents, but he knew she would not like it if he tried _that_. And he found he did not particularly _want_ to let himself become that kind of fiend.

At least, most of the time he didn't.

Something had woken in him when he first regenerated, something darker than his wing. A vast, destructive power hovered at the edges of his consciousness, keeping him alive long after his flesh should have broken from his neglect. In terms of sheer magical ability, he was stronger now than he had ever been, but this power was coupled with a desire to destroy, nauseating in its intensity.

Proof that he had done the right thing, really. Simple beauty like hers could never flourish in the shadow of a conqueror's power-lust. What he had sought to protect with his death, he now guarded with his life.

_Aeris. . .  
_

He felt her coming before he saw her.

* * *

Author's Note: Too short, I know. Depressed. Don't really know why. Haven't felt like writing or doing anything. So if I haven't answered your review, sorry and thank you. Your words help me and I appreciate them. 


	42. To Meet with Sanity

Standard Disclaimer: in which I give due credit to Square Enix for coming up with FFVII and all the characters/places/etc. therein. The studious reader will notice some incongruities with the game here, though. (ie No Lunar Harp, super-fast trek across the map. If this bothers you . . . Sorry. It's AU.)

* * *

It did not look like he was here. 

She had gone first to the Northern Crater, killing monsters along the way for practice and money, getting rides when she could, walking when she couldn't, but as soon as her feet touched the rim of that deep, dark scar in the earth, she knew: the only thing in that yawing, silent grave was darkness.

She had known she would be afraid, but expected her fear to be mitigated by the hope of finding him in that cold place where their peoples first met. Instead, she felt only a suffocating, pervasive sense of evil, and that night, as she trudged away through the snows, she dreamed of a pink-eyed medusa-- laughing at her.

By the time she reached the City of Ancients, she was able to spend less healing power on life-threatening gashes, and more on the blisters on her feet and hands. She had learned which wounds she could afford to ignore, and which needed immediate attention. She had learned to conserve healing energy, too, letting her face get windburned and chapped, and her hands were a mess of calluses and broken nails. Part of her wondered, if he saw her as she was now, would he only laugh at her for offering her love? She had never before let herself look this-- unkempt.

The Ancients' capitol, too, proved empty, even though she lingered there a long time, praying and waiting for hours at the altar where she had seen him kill her. Now her only clue was something one of the miners in Bone Village mentioned: people there no longer locked their doors, because monsters no longer prowled the streets at night. Foraging parties never came back bloodied (or missing a member,) and even below-ground, where the miners were most vulnerable, no one had been attacked by any cave-dwelling creatures in some time.

If it _was_ him, she was proud of him.

She knew he would avoid the mine shafts-- too many people,-- which left the rocky crags outside the town. Aeris threaded her way through broken bone piles and shifting stones, picking her way down the spine of some enormous, dragon-like creature. As the ribs arched above her, she stepped from shadow to light, shadow to light, reminding her of a Cetra love-game her mother had taught her. You threw a pebble down a tree-lined path, and if your pebble landed in the light, he loved you. If it landed in shadow, he did not.

Aeris chucked the little shell she found in the City, and it skittered and bounced along the bones, landing squarely in sunlight. She smiled a little as she passed the shell (you never picked up a pebble that told you what you wanted to hear) and shielded her eyes as she looked up the cliff side.

* * *

His cave was above the tree line, and so he had a commanding view of the treetops and the disturbances passing through them. He peered intently down at the Forbidden Forest and saw the leaves whispering among themselves, the shadows stretching towards a single point, and the trees leaning in, listening. Then the woods parted and he could see the path for a moment before she emerged-- a tiny pink dot making its way across the dry, barren rock towards him. 

_No, Aeris, _no_. Anywhere but here._

But she only came nearer. He hated himself for the sudden pounding in his chest, for the way his heart leapt at the thought: _she is coming_.

He took a step back, keeping to the darkness.

Did she know he was here? Her gait indicated that this was not so-- she walked with an even weariness, leaning on her tri-colored staff: the tread of someone who has come a long way, and who has a long way yet to travel. But she _was_ coming towards him, picking her way through the bone piles, and over the loose, dry rocks. Was she just a tired traveller looking for a cave to shelter in?

_No. _

The cave entrance was nearly inaccessible, and besides, she could have just stayed in the village.

_Of course…_

_Damn them. Damn them all._

Even if he had avoided being seen, it would not take a scholar to know that someone with an eight foot sword was destroying the local flora and fauna. Someone must have told her he was here. Well, she would never find him. The cavern behind him had countless twists and turns, and he could stay there until she left. With his hearing and sight, he could keep ahead of her indefinitely.

"_She will not stop searching, child. You should know that."_

The voice startled him. He had not heard it since the day he left Aeris, had not seen a vision in all the time he kept himself to the shadows, nursing his own isolation. Now the Planet was back, chiding, her whisper clear as snow melt, soft as desert sands.

He watched the little figure inch up the cliff, using a petrified monster skeleton as a bridge between two boulders. She threw something, and he contracted his vertical pupils to get a better view. Her hair was frizzing out of its braid, and she was dirty, although it looked like she had spent water rubbing at the dirt, in the way of people who are unaccustomed to and uncomfortable with being dirty. Tears riddled the pink dress, and her hands were scabbed and muddied.

_Damn you, Planet, why didn't you stop her? She's the last of the your children-- who will hear you when she's gone? Why would you risk letting the Cetra die?_

But the only answer was the dripping of cool water on stone, the rustle of a breeze through the Ancient's blood . . . and the _tink_ of the Princess Guard on stone.

* * *

The cave, which was the only likely place to find him, was a long way up, but Aeris bent her back to the task, digging her Guard into the loose rock for balance. Once, she even had to stick the the rod between two boulders horizontally, so that she could hold onto it while scrambling up the rock. She glanced up only occasionally to keep herself going in the right direction, and it occurred to her that she was making so much noise, that if Sephiroth _was _there and didn't want to see her, he could easily avoid her. 

When she was ten feet away from the cave mouth, she slipped. It was not a serious slip, as her clumsy clambering went, but when she staggered, the rocks she put her weight on gave way, and she threw herself forward in an attempt to keep from rolling all the way back down the bluff.

A black-gloved hand caught her by the arm, and she was standing toe to toe with him. She could see her own face reflected in his mako eyes.

"Sephiroth!"

He released her immediately, leaping backward into the gloom, and she scrambled after him. He was still there: two glowing eyes in the darkness, but he looked poised for flight, and as she entered the cavern, she noticed that he was not, in fact, standing-- only resting his feet on the stone floor.

"You _came_," he said. "_Why _did you _come_?"

Part of her wanted to throw herself at him, wanted to bury her face in his broad, pale chest, listen to the music of his heart beneath his ear. Another part was acutely conscious of her own panting, sweaty, shabby self, and his face, what she could see of it, was as white and unreadable as the skulls outside, betraying no hint of welcome.

_Could Vincent have been wrong? Was he seeing his own love for Lucrecia in us-- where here there is nothing but empty hope?_

_Only one way to find out._

She sat down heavily on a rock, resting the Princess Guard against the cave wall. Sliding her pack off her shoulders, she opened it, and pulled out her gifts.

* * *

She set a new pair of gloves beside her, and then, with a bit more difficulty, extracted a mass of black leather from her little satchel. The pack promptly folded in on itself once the pool of darkness was out, an object that jingled and rang as if its buckles were a row of silver bells. 

_My coat._

He rested more of his weight on the floor.

"I came to give you something," she said.

_How like her . . . to come all this way, and risk so much, simply to return what she felt was not hers . . . and perhaps, to tell me goodbye-- her way._

_I should have known she would not want our last words to be sharp ones. I should have been kinder, but I could not have stayed any longer than I did. Seeing her looking at me that way . . . gods . . . _

_This much I can bear in silence though, just so long as I don't have to lie to her again. _

"Thank you," he said. _For everything. _"I have missed--"

"Not that. _This_."

Her little fist connected with his jaw with a reverberating-- _crack!_

* * *

Author's Note: Ah, that felt good. He so had it coming. XD 


	43. The Wavering Balance: Part One

Disclaimer: Still don't work for Squeenix and consequently am only borrowing their stuff.

Oh, and it gets a bit randy here. Don't say I didn't warn you.

* * *

"Ow! Aeris, wha- agh!" 

The blow to his stomach knocked some of the air out of him.

_She's stronger than she used to be. _

"Take that! And that!" she cried. She was driving her knuckles into him where ever she could find purchase. He had his hands up, shielding his face, and he backed away from the little fury, not because she was really hurting him, but she _was _really alarming him. "You_ kidnapped _me," she screamed, "you _seduced _me, you almost _killed _me--"

"I didn't sedu--"

"Shut up! That isn't the point!-- And _then_, as if that weren't enough,_ you __left me._"

For a moment, she let up, but it was only to snatch her Guard and run at him again. Now, she was armed.

The Ancient's crest struck him on his upraised forearm. He was getting pecked by little golden bird.

Hard.

Instinct took over, and in one motion, he had her against the wall. His hands were around her wrists, and he squeezed until the bones bent and the Guard came clattering to the ground. He kicked it away, too late realizing what he had done.

Now there was nothing between them, nothing to stave off the sensation of her sweat-slicked body writhing against his, the gentle swells of her breasts pressed flat against him, her thighs parted by his own.

They both froze, and for an eternal instant, his parted lips trembled over hers, and they stood breath to breath, heartbeat to heartbeat. In that moment, he knew that his long isolation had served only to weaken his will and sharpen his craving into madness.

He was burning. He was spinning.

He was lost.

His body shuddered, hips giving way first, leaning into hers. She had time to gasp as he pressed himself to her, in and up, then he covered that small mouth, bruising petal pale lips with his own, and she melted for him-- oh, she melted for him-- just as she had that first day outside Midgar so long ago.

Their teeth clashed and he tasted something sharp and salty, but he was past caution now. His kisses were blind, desperate, his fondling fierce as he covered the softness beneath him. One hand grasped her breast, the other pulled her head back by the hair, exposing more of her to the invasion of his tongue. He kissed his way across her cheek, and lower to the soft hollow of her bared neck where her lifeblood hammered beneath her skin.

"Oh, I knew," she whispered, "I _knew_ you still wanted me."

With an inarticulate cry, he flung himself off her, his black wing snapping out. He stopped a few feet away with his back to her, panting and shuddering.

"Get out," he hissed, "Get _out_, damn you!"

"Sephiroth--"

"Stay away!"

"But _why_? You _love_ me, don't you? Don't you know how rare it is for two people to have the same feelings for each other? There's something real between us and you know it!"

"Everything in the_ world_ is between us: your friends, my mother, the future your people want for you, the past Shinra gave me, your _nature_-- and mine. No feeling in the world is strong enough to fight _that_." He turned his face as he replied, his profile white against the dark stone, and he spoke over his shoulder.

"Love does not have to fight," she answered. "It just has to be allowed to grow."

He shook his head. "I am not capable--"

"No lies!"

He made a sound like a strangled scream, and swung back to face her, mako-green blazing in the darkness. "You want the truth? The truth is this: I would slaughter everything that breathes, turn every planet in this system to dust, shred the very Lifestream itself, if it meant I could make you mine. But Aeris, I _need _you _safe_. Why, _why_ can't you understand? You always understood before! _Why_ did you come _here?_"

"I came for _you_."

"Then you came for_ nothing_!" He turned his back to her again and bent his head, speaking to the dripping stalactite in front of him. "Aeris, don't be a _fool_. What kind of future could I give you?" He punctuated the statement with a flutter of black feathers. "You're young, beautiful. The last, best hope of the Ancients. You could have the whole world at your feet if you wanted it. Anyone you smiled at would love you. Me, I am a _butcher. _A _murderer_. You _should not _want to be near me. I have no knowledge of patience, or forgiveness, or-- whatever it is that keeps people from destroying one another . . . If you should tire of me, I will not be understanding. If you offend me-- deliberately or not-- I will be _dangerous_. These-- _other_ feelings can't last, so they don't matter."

Aeris let his words hang in the air for a long moment before replying.

"I may not know much about relationships, either. But I know what is natural, and it is only natural to tire of things. I think that hearts are proven when there is little passion, not when there is much . . . when it is a _choice_ to be kind, or to stay your hand or your tongue, not simply when you couldn't imagine hurting your lover. _Loyalty_-- not just desire-- loyalty is a thing to cherish. You could be loyal to me, couldn't you?"

He heard her footsteps approaching him from behind, felt the warmth of her presence on his back, and then her fingers were on his wing, exploring, sending gentle twanging sensations through the pinions.

"You're beautiful," she whispered.

_Gods, she's relentless._

She stepped even closer and slipped her arms under his, embracing him from behind. Sephiroth sucked in his breath, and all his muscles tensed. She pressed her face between his shoulder blades, and her hands slid up his chest-- bare but for the black straps criss-crossing his breast.

"Don't," he managed, the word wavering like a sob. "Don't. Aeris, please, gods . . . _Don't_ . . . Stop it! You're killing me!"

"Sssh," she hushed him, gentling him like a spooked animal. "Sssh, it's ok." He felt her lips on his skin: light, cool kisses on the place where feathers met flesh, as if she somehow knew that place was sensitive. He gritted his teeth, and his eyes stared upward. "Sephiroth, I love you."

"No!" He tore himself away from her. "I won't let you do this! Stay away from me! All I can bring you is _death_! Aeris, don't you see? Don't you _see_? I'll destroy you, given time. I'll warp you until your light wavers. Flowers cannot bloom in darkness!"

"_These _do." She indicated the tough, scrubby Ancient's blood spattering the shadowy walls. "_I am not afraid of you_, Sephiroth."

He searched her face, taken aback once again by her audacity.

"I haven't been afraid of you, despite all I've learned, since the day I saw you at your angriest," she went on. "I knew you could kill me, but I wasn't afraid. When you brought me to your palace, I jumped at every little thing, but that day-- I found my own strength. I think we both changed: you've gotten younger, and I've gotten older. You found a parent in Planet, and I found _me_. So I'm not afraid of you anymore, and I'm not afraid of anything that death-- or life-- could bring. What are _you_ so afraid of?"

He spoke slowly, stressing every word, as if he could make her understand by enunciating: "_You are not safe with me!_"

"I am not safe without you, either-- and I have no desire to be elsewhere!"

Emerald eyes sparkled with gentle pleading, and her words were a little lullaby, or what he imagined a lullaby would be like, smoothing away his defenses.

_Her voice puts Orpheus to shame._

How could anyone, even the king of hell, deny her what she asked?

He turned away sharply.

"Aeris, _no_. _Everything_ is _against_ us. There is no reason to think they would leave us alone, no reason to think _I_ could make _you_ happy."

"There is _one_ reason: this." She squeezed his arm, and there was gentle, sympathetic pressure in her hands and in her eyes.

"Why are you _doing _this? What do you stand to gain by coming here? I have nothing now, I _am _nothing."

"Do you really hate yourself so much?" She looked like she wanted to embrace him again, but was holding herself back for his sake. "Seph, you _can't_ hang on to that hatred. If you do, then you're _right _to fear sharing yourself with me, because hatred _cannot_ live with love. If I stay with you, the way _I _want to, then I will become part of you-- and sooner or later, you _will_ hate me, too. Anyone who feels that way about who they are cannot help turning something beautiful into something hideous. But you have a choice:_ choose_ now. Will you live in love or hate?"

He was silent a long moment, then he took her hand off his arm and gently pushed it away, watching her face fall as he did so.


	44. The Wavering Balance: Part Two

Disclaimer: Square owns all Square-related stuff.  
And-- this is really supposed to be read with Part One of this chapter.

* * *

"That choice was made for me long ago. I am a disease, a virus born to infect and destroy and copy itself. Now you understand what I fear: that I will hate you one day. You would not even need to fail me, only fail to make me happy. And no one-- not even you, can do _that_. Let me protect you, Aeris, the only way I know how." 

"Sephir--"

"I know you are not used to being denied. How could you be? For me, though, it was no surprise to learn that what I _am_ moved you forever beyond my reach. The_ evidence_ says I will ruin or murder you, and so my choice is made for me. Can you deny the facts?"

She looked at him soberly, and saw a man bred to be an instrument of war, who had killed many, and who might yet kill her.

He saw his answer in her hesitation.

"_Go_ then, there are many others who could treat you far better than I could."

"While you rot in here?"

"While I take the path that is mine, as much as it ever was mine to choose."

She looked as if she wanted to strike him again, or throw herself at him another way, or flop down on the cavern floor and wait him out. But she only closed her eyes, listening to some inner voice, and when she opened them again her green eyes glittered like cut glass.

"You really aren't ready for this, are you?" she asked quietly, biting down on a trembling lower lip. "You're going to let _them _win. The ones who trained you to kill and to calculate, to distrust everything you can't see, to avoid hope at all costs. The ones who did-- all those _things _to you. Can't you see you're killing both of us?"

He had no answer to that, so he gave none. When she spoke again, her voice was gentle, wavering a little.

"Just because you want something, doesn't mean you can't have it . . . So, if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

He watched her turn away from him, watched her pick up her Guard and sling her satchel over her shoulder. She did not look back, and he felt something tearing in his chest as she straightened her shoulders, bracing herself for a future without him. His black wing drooped, and he let it disappear, dissolving into dark vapor and a flurry of inky feathers the way it did whenever he let it retract.

"Aeris, you know what I _am_." He had not meant to call after her, but as her slight pink-clad form receded toward the light, he suddenly found his voice.

She paused at the cave mouth, her face backlit by the white morning light, and fingered the petal of a blood blossom before answering. "I know what you were made to be," she replied. "Only you can choose what you _are_. No matter what anyone told you, you are _not _a puppet. That's how I knew we had a _chance_."

"A slight chance, Aeris, far too slight. I see-- _dark_ things. I know what could happen if I let us come together. In the city down there, there's an altar--"

"With a ledge above it. And you jump: Masamune straight down in both hands, and you strike me from behind. And I die the way you did outside Midgar-- smiling."

He felt the blood drain from his face.

"You _know_?" he said, "You _know_ and you're _here_? Aeris, what are you _doing_?" He took a step toward her, wanting to shake her, but she spoke again.

"I know _everything_, Sephiroth, and I know that the evil things you do are not nameless forces that _happen _to you. They are _choices you _make. And if you let me, I can help you find a _better_ way. Just tell me what's keeping you from me. Are you afraid Jenova will come again-- and you won't be able to tell your thoughts from hers? _I_ can tell you when you're hearing her voice. Are you afraid that your violence will destroy me, or drive me away from you? I can _tell_ you when you're hurting me. Or are you just afraid of what you feel, because you know it's stronger than you are?"

He stared at her.

_. . . Stronger than I am._

_Gods, Aeris, it's everything you said and more. Can you know? Can you even begin to imagine? I look at you and all I feel is-- need. I have needed you all my life, thirsted for you, half-hated you for making me feel this way. The sheer force of my hunger could crush you. _

_Or crush me. _

_But is that only because I kept myself safe through all my years alone by hiding behind impregnable defenses?_

_If I take your hand now, Aeris, even those are lost to me, and I will be more vulnerable than if I were bleeding from a dozen wounds. One frown from you, one _look_, and you could shatter me. _

_And here you are, wanting to share all the dull routines, all the ordinary joys and mundane calamities of daily life with _me?_ How can I do this? How can I--_

"_Trust her."_

The voice sounded sad: sighing like wind through empty canyons, water dripping in subterranean chambers. Sad but gentle, and never had it been more distinctly like the voice of his Ancient.

Twin images came to him in rapid succession.

He and Aeris were in the Shinra libraries; she sat before him-- not in his lap, but between his legs, and his arms were around her waist. He rested his chin on her shoulder, reading with her from dusty Cetra tomes. She giggled at something he said, and he nuzzled her neck, which made her laugh harder.

Then the other image: Aeris faced him, eyes wide with shock and pain. With one hand, he cupped her cheek, with the other he impaled them both with Masamune. The blade pierced her through the center, back to front, and his own heart, front to back. He still held the sword hilt.

She tried to speak, but blood choked her and she coughed-- blood and spittle. He wiped her chin, tenderly, with his thumb, caressing her cheek as it grew waxy, gazing into her eyes as the life-light left them. Then, he slid himself along the razor edge until his body touched hers, and leaned toward her face.

The kiss tasted like blood and death.

"_You asked how I could let the Cetra die. I would let them die as they lived: bravely, beautifully, choosing their own paths. You are the one she has chosen, for good or ill. Now the choice is yours-- will the gift she gives you bring life to you, or death to her?"_

He had dreamed of a world without darkness, where she had been his to love beneath the open sky, where he no longer shrank from being touched-- at least by her, where he had an heir: his and hers.

"_Come, child. You don't need to be afraid anymore."_

Aeris sighed, apparently mistaking his long silence for a rebuff. "Think about this, then," she said, "if our roles were reversed, would you rather die in my arms, or live on after hearing me say I was nothing to you?"

"I didn't say--"

"It wasn't enough to make you try. That's almost the same as not being there at all. Goodbye, Sephiroth."

Then she disappeared into the sunlight.

"Aeris…?" She did not turn back to him, and the footsteps crunched on the gravel outside. Was she being cruel, in the way that only lovers can be cruel, refusing him as he had refused her when she called to him from the seventeenth cell? Or was she wiser than Orpheus, not turning to her lover until he stood in the sunlight? "Aeris, _wait_."


	45. Sunlight

Disclaimer: SE owns what SE came up with.

* * *

She paused, blinking rapidly in the harsh light, unshed tears burning in her eyes.

She was afraid she would start bawling outright if he told her, once again, that he could not feel the way she did, so she did not turn to face him, only listened to his boots on stone as he approached the cave entrance.

_Such light footsteps for such a tall man._

_A tall, stupid man._

Why couldn't he see that pushing her away was naked, colossal madness?

_Because his whole life is madness, and when I offer him love and sanity, it seems like madness to him._

The pebbles her footsteps had loosened stopped their bouncing rattle down the cliff, and silence stretched between them.

"Aeris, I-- this-- won't come easily to me," he said.

Her heart beat fast in her ribcage. There was a new edge in his voice now: a raw, broken note. She stole a glance behind her.

He stood at the mouth of the cave, head was bowed as if in prayer, hair shining like mercury. Then he lifted his face: his white skin caught the sunlight, and two shades of green locked. In his deep-set eyes there was a new expression.

_He is pleading with me._

Her breath came faster.

_He's done it, _she realized. _He's won_. We've_ won._

Her hand tightened on her Guard, gripping the pearly-white section of the rod until her knuckles showed white.

One of his hands opened and closed, as if he wanted to reach for her. He stood in the sunlight, defying everything he was supposed to be: risking himself, and her, in an act of faith and hope.

"I'm going to make so many mistakes," he said, shaking his head slightly, but never taking his eyes from hers.

"I know."

"I could _hurt_ you."

"I know."

"Can you forgive everything? Even the things I haven't done yet?"

A smile spread across her face, a smile of triumph and mercy and hope, even as tears blurred his image and spilled down her cheeks. She let the Guard fall from her hand and held her arms out to him, like a mother receiving the first faltering steps of a new life. "I _can_ forgive you, and I do, and I hope you can forgive my mistakes too, but-- one day at a time, alright?"

He nodded and stepped closer, leaving the shadows behind, and she loved him then, loved him more than she ever had, for his fear and for his hesitancy. A little breeze kicked up and the ghost-shreds of his hair touched her first, whispering over her outstretched hands.

"You really want this? Because, Aeris, if you're not sure--"

"Oh gods, yes, I'm sure. There is nothing I'm more sure of."

And then his arms were around her, and she felt him shiver in mingled terror and delight as he fell into her embrace. She buried her face in his pale chest, letting her tears stain his harness. On her scalp, his chin was hard and his lips were soft, and she drank in the sharp, dark scent of him.

"You want this too?"

She asked not because she did not know, but for the tremor that passed through him when he heard the question. The arms around her went hard and implacable, as if she were being embraced by warm, white marble-- a living statue that would never, could never let her go.

"Yes." The word was small. "Because, Aeris, I--" He swallowed, as if the words he wanted to say were choking him. She tried to shift and face him, but his arms were like steel, holding her so close she could not struggle. He pressed her head to his chest, avoiding her face while he spoke. "I . . . l-love . . . you."

They were the words she had longed to hear, words she knew he had never spoken before, and yet, when she heard them-- though she hated herself for it-- a part of her doubted. It was just-- there was no emotion in the words at all; they came out bitten and half-strangled. He sounded utterly _flat_, his declaration coming as a sheer, cold act of will.

Then something inside him snapped.

He clamped her against his breast, nearly crushing the air from her lungs, his fingers curling into claws and digging into her back. "I love you! I love you!" It was more of a scream than a confession. "Don't leave me! Don't leave me! Don't leave me! _Please_!"

She did not know what she answered, but the words were not as important as the earnest sound of her reassurance, the feeling of her own tears mingling with his. Because he _was _crying now, not with a man's tears at all, but with the wracking sobs of a frightened, agonized boy.

If Aeris had been human, she would have felt a little thrill at seeing all his dark power undone before her, for there is in humanity a perverse inclination to crush weakness. But Aeris was not human, or rather, was only half, so the thought came and went too quickly for her to identify it. She saw him only as he was: broken, helpless, and in desperate need of her.

So she pressed his head to her shoulder, and when he leaned on her more heavily than ever, shaking her with his sobbing, she eased them both to the ground, rocking him and soothing his shuddering cries of "Don't leave me" with "I won't, I won't, I never will, I promise! I'm here, I'm right here."

She thought she could hold him that way until they were both cried out, being his steadying anchor, but then his thoughtless mantra changed. He spoke in little more than whisper now, and he seemed completely unaware of the words he whimpered into her shoulder, "Don't leave me, don't leave me. I'll be good, I'll be good."

The new phrase went through her like a shard of ice, for it was a remnant from the long-ago day when he'd last wept, and she sucked in her breath and wailed, "Oh, gods, what did they _do _to you?"

He seemed to suddenly realize what he was saying, and broke away, ashamed of his tears. But she caught his hand as he reached up to shield his face, and gently drew it away, re-exposing a visage now blotchy and wet and red, like an open wound. It was her turn to plead.

"Let me," she said, softly.

_Let me in. I know it's strange to you, but let this be the first sorrow that you share._

She stood, and he did not shy away, did not try to hide his reddened eyes or cover his gulping sniffles. He let her guide his hand to her ribs, where they brushed her breast beneath her jacket, let her stand above him, and take his face in both her hands. When she bent forward, his slit-pupiled eyes slid closed, and his thin lips parted, waiting.

All she had to offer seemed trifling compared with what she had woken in him-- a desperate need stifled and hidden for a lifetime. She had only the oblivion of passion, and the comfort of her caress, but perhaps, in this moment, it would be enough, and ever afterward, all that she was would be his and his alone. She brushed her mouth against his, tasting tears, letting the precious heat of his lips warm them both.

He trembled at the touch, and made as if to pull away, but then her tongue slipped between his lips, and his hand fisted at her little jacket. She made soothing little murmuring sounds from the back of her throat as the kiss deepened, changing from gentle exploration to her own, tender possessiveness. She did not need to be told that this kind of kiss was new to him. She was kissing the wound to his soul, kissing his loneliness: it was more than a kiss; it was a point to press her whole being into the abyss of his unfathomable pain.

A kiss that could never be taken, only received.

She did not want it to end, and she lingered, her lips touching his again and again, feeling him drink in her presence the way the parched earth around them drank their tears. When at last she opened her eyes, he stayed as he was for a long moment, his hand still clutching her jacket, eyes still closed. The white "V" of his brows had inverted, sloping upward now instead of down, in an expression of helpless surrender. She slipped her hands around his head, burying her fingers in the frost-colored strands, and pulled his head against her heart. He shuddered, and melted into her embrace, pale arms looping around her waist. They stayed that way for a long time, a spot of life amid bare rock and bone, and the rising sun shrank their shadows, glinting off gold-brown and silver-white.


	46. Home

Disclaimer: Still doing this just for fun. Square owns all the Square-initiated stuff.

* * *

"Thank you," he said at length.

"For what?"

"For coming for me. For loving me . . . For hitting me." He turned his shining head to smile up at her. "I needed that. I needed-- still need-- you. Say you'll stay with me."

"I will."

"Forever?"

She giggled.

"What's funny?"

"Nothing. That was just-- abrupt."

"I am not like other men."

"What are other men like?"

If he knew she was teasing him with the question, he did not show it. "Other men could love you and love again. I can't."

She grinned down at him. "You're not exactly the kind of man a girl could forget, Sephiroth. I always knew that if you could let yourself love me, it would be forever. I'm not afraid."

_I'm not stupid, either. I know that sometimes I will be only one bright drop in the inky sea of your isolation, like Gaia in the vacuum of space. I know it is no easy thing that we are beginning. I know it will take all my Cetra power and human skill to keep our love from becoming vampiric. _

"This won't be easy for either of us," she said, "But I can be something for you to anchor yourself with, and we can grow together, you and I. I will learn to be strong. You will learn to laugh."

It was a strange, sober promise, an odd way to begin a life, but it made his arms tighten around her and his sigh sounded relieved.

"I would like that," he murmured.

She smiled down at the silver hair, and fingered the soft strands, massaging his scalp with her fingernails.

"I had a dream," he said, "right before I saw you coming. We were like this, only . . . "

"Only what?"

"Only you had my child inside you." He turned his face up, catching her reaction. Her breath caught in her throat. Clearly, he was not going to be one of those men who feared having children of his own. "Do you want to come in with me? I know a place I think you'd like to see."

He was asking if she wanted to make love to him. She felt his request more than saw it: in a slight tensing of his shoulders, in the the heat of his breath on her belly, in the way his thumb slowly moved up her ribs, then down.

She did want him. _Gods_, how she did. She wanted to let the warm, comforting caress become something deeper, kissing him with her whole body. She wanted to lie beneath him, knowing that she belonged to him in every sense of the word. On the first night when he took her, every thrust and every moan was a promise, a promise that would be fulfilled today.

They would not wait for nightfall, they would not wait for the comforts of soft beds or candlelight or champagne. He would take her where he knew he would not be interrupted, and then--

She was suddenly, keenly aware of the dirt that she had had no chance to remove, and of the sweat and travel stains on her dress and person.

He seemed to sense her thoughts, because he pressed her against him more firmly, almost in warning. "You are beautiful," he said, getting to his feet without breaking the embrace, "my love."

And when she nestled against him, she knew that she was.

* * *

The place where Sephiroth brought her was a cave of wonders.

He led her through dark, twisting cavern tunnels, where the only light was his eerie gaze, more mako-colored shadow than real illumination. It did not help that he was almost invisible after shrugging into his coat and that he, apparently, could see perfectly.

Ordinarily, this kind of complete darkness, coupled with the vast stretch of stone above them, would have made her nervous. But a reassuring squeeze from black-gloved fingers let her know that nothing as inconsequential as a rockslide could keep him from protecting her, and he led her by the hand her over stones and loose gravel with never a misstep.

The pile of rough rock he stopped beside looked like a dozen others they had passed, but he seemed to know this was what he had been looking for. He released her only long enough to set his shoulder to a particularly large boulder, which gave way with a grumbling shudder when he pushed.

Humid warmth and white light spilled out, and the sound of falling water. Aeris blinked furiously in the sudden brilliance as he led her, still blinded, into a vast, high-ceilinged chamber, and waited with her for her vision to clear.

Bit by bit, a place of pure magic came into focus.

She had come with no real expectations, but she had not believed that places like this one still existed.

Light slanted down from a few breaks in the ceiling, like the shining fingers of a goddess, but what amazed her most were the colors.

The cavern glittered with precious stones: agate and amythest and amber, emeralds and carnelian, rubies, sapphires, crystal and diamonds, all sparkled in the walls.

Wherever a sunbeam kissed stone, it became a blaze of color, sparkling light bursting into countless tiny prisms.

A soft, deep moss grew in patches on the ground, wherever the light was strongest. It looked a little like woolly thyme, only it bloomed with star-shaped flowers, the palest possible shade of blue. The herb was unfamiliar, but she recognized the scent when her feet crushed it. A Cetra scent. Something like honeysuckle. Something like the sea.

What was more, she could feel the touch of the Ancients here, could tell that long ago her people had taken a naturally beautiful place, and enhanced it. Broken crystal columns interrupted the firey rainbows of the cavern's walls, and on those columns Aeris recognized blurred etchings and chipped mosaics of the seasons, the sun and moon, and the four elements.

But the clearest mark they left was the pool. To one side, a waterfall rushed into a deep bowl carved into the ground, the source of the room's damp warmth. Magical symbols glittering on the bottom like golden fish; the Ancients' spells had outlasted the people who had built this place, had outlasted whatever sacred purpose this room once had had.

Aeris felt her eyes fill with tears.

"Do you not like it here?" Sephiroth was beside her. He had kept his silence, letting her make a circuit of the cave, following like a leathery shadow. He was the only thing in the room that was black and white, and he stood out sharply against the brilliant background. "We can go--"

"No! No, it's amazing! It's _perfect_. It's just-- I don't know_ anything_ about this place. I don't know what _half _of these symbols mean, and I'm the last one . . ."

He seemed to understand, and he wrapped his arms around her, letting her curl into the warmth of his chest, taking comfort from his dark embrace and the cool bite of his coat's buckles. "I can help you learn. Shinra's libraries are nothing if not extensive."

"But that would mean leaving here."

He looked down at her, and his face broke into a smile. "You _do _like it then?"

"It's beautiful."

"It is now."


	47. Happiness

Disclaimer: Square still owns the stuff Square came up with.

Author's Note: Today DoM is one year old! I wish this story a very happy birthday.

* * *

Part of him berated himself for spouting precisely the kind of besotted twaddle he had always scoffed at, but she flushed so happily at his praise, and his own heart reflected her glow: moon to her sunlight.

They ate together from her provisions, sitting beside the waterfall. Aeris spread out her little jacket and was sitting on it, and he stretched out nearby, leaning on one of his elbows.

Sitting so close to the rush of falling water made talking difficult, unless he had his mouth directly to her ear, so he found himself making excuses to whisper to her. For her part, he strongly suspected that she did not need him to repeat half of what she asked him to.

The day's events had an unreal quality to them, almost as if he were watching one of those other, happy Sephiroths in brighter Turns of the Cycle. Part of him could not really believe that this was no vision, _he _was living out a dream he had given up as lost.

Besides that, the act of expressing his own feelings deeply unnerved him, and in the last few hours he had shown more of himself than he dared in his entire life. But in another way, it felt completely right to be hers like this. She had him, quite literally, eating out of her hand.

She giggled when he bent to wash his face, and he glanced back at her quizzically.

"You wash your face like a cat," she explained.

"Is that bad?"

"No. It's you."

He shrugged and turned back to what he was doing-- washing first one side of his face, then the other-- when she collided with him. The impact threw him off balance, but he righted himself mid-tumble, and he landed on the surface of the water. He stood, inclining his head at her and frowning, the water rippling outward from his boots in two smooth circles.

Aeris had her arms folded across her chest, and a pouty, petulant look on her face.

"You were _supposed _to get _wet_," she whined.

"It's-- a game. You're playing with me." He meant it as both question and statement.

She sighed and uncrossed her arms. "You've got a lot to learn, Sephy," she said with a little shake of her head.

"Sephy?"

"Sephy," she insisted, and went back to finishing her lunch.

He pounced on her and pitched her into the water. Her brown gardening boots went up over her head, and she landed flat on her back, her dress immediately dragging her under, then fanning out in pink waves.

She broke the surface sputtering in hypocritical outrage, amber mane plastered to her skull.

"I win," he said, and broke into a grin.

* * *

She had to admit he looked endearing like that: squatting beside the water with his head cocked at her. He did not look smug, or at least, not _very_ smug, but more-- eager, almost hopeful. In his slit-pupilled eyes there was a kittenish intensity.

He was learning how to play.

_And he learns fast._

She finished spitting warm, sacred water and swept the surface with one arm, sending a rush of spray his way, which caught in his silvery hair like dewdrops.

_Grr! He can't look good when I don't!_

The dress clung to her legs, making treading water difficult, and Sephiroth, unchivalrously, did not volunteer to help her.

"I like this game," he announced as she floundered up the pool's carved steps, drenched, her hair a series of stalactites pouring excess water. She had almost cleared the rim of the pool, when she stepped on the hem of her own dress and fell forward.

He was beside her in a flash, catching her by the arm. His steadying grip lessened the impact, and the moss was forgiving, so she expected him to help her to her feet, but he didn't.

He did not let go, either.

When she turned to him, she saw the look in his eyes was kittenish no longer.

Her heart pounded.

He wanted her.

Cooling water beaded on her skin, and Sephiroth, her Sephiroth, eased himself to the ground beside her, dark and warm. His hand on her arm turned her to him and a surge went through her, a heat that flamed in her chest and sent an echoing shiver of anticipation through the deep parts of her body.

Silver lashes angled downward as his gaze left her face, moving lower to take in the sodden dress clinging to every curve. It was as revealing as being completely nude.

When his eyes moved upward again, his glowing gaze had darkened. Still, the gloved hand on her arm did not let go, but the grip eased, becoming a feather-light caress, sliding up her arm, her neck.

When he touched her face, she closed her eyes, and lay back. He followed her down, pressing himself closer with a leathery creak and a faint tinkle of buckles clinking together.

The black leather of his gloves was cool and smooth, trailing a slow pattern on her forehead, her eyelids, her nose. His touch inverted that first, nearly chaste night: sunbeams bathed the room around them, not moonlight; they lay together in ancient, hidden ruins, not a new-built palace; _he_ was touching _her_. He ran the back of his gloved fingers against her cheeks, loving her lightly.

"Sephiroth," she whispered, making the fingers on her face pause, "Take your gloves off."

She heard him swallow, then the gloved hand trailed to her mouth. Gently, he pushed her parted lips further apart, and his finger dipped inside.

She understood, and closed her teeth over the glove's fingertip, biting down so that he could slide his hand out of its covering.

He took the glove away, and she heard the other one come off, then his knuckles brushed a tendril of damp hair away from her forehead. A white hand cupped her face, and his thumb traced her lower lip slowly, so slowly. She opened her eyes to find that he had bent lower over her, and his cat's eyes were fixed on her mouth.

Aeris wet her lips.

* * *

Author's Note:

:ehem:

And so on and so forth. Right. So. You know where this is going. Bug out now if you are so inclined/ know you shouldn't be here. Seriously.

They're feeling pretty squirrelly right now.


	48. All Things Sacred: Part One

Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer about Square Enix having all rights to Square Enix intellectual property.

Author's Note:

For those of you who believe that erotic art is pornographic/distasteful/immoral: I respect that belief. I just don't share it. So consider yourselves warned. The next chapters can be summed up in two words: _They boink_. That's really the only thing that's happening here.

Also, if you're too young-- skedaddle.

On the other hand, for those of you who've been waiting for these chapters for a very long time: This is a multi-part chapter, so the ending(s) here may be a bit awkward. I know there's quite a bit of wind up, so just please be patient.

* * *

He saw the invitation. 

The delicate pink lips glistened, the thick, curling lashes pressed together, and her back bowed, rising up to meet him.

It was not only her mouth she offered, it was her whole body.

_Gods, her whole_ being.

He did not know how to accept this gift, so he did not try, only bent to worship his little goddess, his Cetra venificulla.

Still, he hesitated before pressing his white lips to hers.

"Aeris, I-- I've wanted this, so badly and for so long. Gods… If I'm too quick--" He spoke into her mouth, feeling the heat of her trembling breath.

"Sssh," the reply was accompanied by the sensation of her fingers twining in his hair. She spoke again, opening her eyes for emphasis: "We're together. That's the only thing that matters."

He had her permission to let his control slip and lose himself in her, meld with her completely, but he was still not entirely sure that her innocent mind grasped what he was talking about.

Well, she was going to find out if she kept looking at him like that.

"Is there anything you want me to do for you right now?" he asked. "Anything at all-- just tell me what you like."

Her smile was shy. "Just-- don't rush, ok? Even if--"

"I won't," he said, "I promise."

"And . . . Can I undress you?"

He had never explored his resistance to being undressed by anyone but himself, but with her it felt right. She pulled away his defenses as only she could, exposing his body to her caress.

She began with his shoulder armor, unbuckling the heavy plates and lifting them away one at a time. He stood, lifting her to her feet after him, to give her better access to the complex series of fastenings that comprised his attire. Her hands unhooked the single clip securing his coat, then slid beneath the leather. Warmth flowed from her fingertips as she ran her hands beneath the trench coat, and he helped her ease his shoulders out of the heavy leather, making it spill off him in a dark wave that pooled at their feet.

He did not move, did not resist, but his breathing came faster as she stepped closer. She was cool and damp, but her touch was sunshine, sending a prickling thrill through his skin. Her hands met the clasps of his harness, the dark straps over his chest. She freed him: first one side, then the other, peeling away the black "X" sealing his heart.

For a moment, she pushed no further, only ran her hands over his skin. Love was in every gesture, every light brush of her fingers, a love so intense it was almost visible-- a sacred brilliance brighter than the afterlife.

He slipped then, catching her by the hand and pressing a fierce kiss to the inside of her wrist. He realized he was panting, and squeezing too tightly on the birdlike bones, so he softened and drew her hand across his lips, kissing the very tip of each finger.

Then he guided her hand back, guided it lower, and he felt the heat and pressure of her touch. She blushed prettily-- a deep pink, but did not pull away even when he released her. Instead, she caressed him through the thick fabric, her touch soft against his maddening hardness.

A groan escaped him when she stopped.

But her index fingers slid beneath that thick band of his belt, running over the slightly sweaty flesh enclosed by the heavy cinch. Her hands undid the buckle, loosening the armor plate securing his abdomen, and letting it drop.

She knelt down to see what she was doing as she worked the unfamiliar fastenings of his boots, and he propped each leg up in turn on a nearby rock, resting a hand on her head as the rows of clamps clinked open one at a time.

Little fingers found the buckles at his knees . . . higher. She slowed her already unhurried motions as she opened the clasps at his thighs: she was smiling, savoring his shudders.

There was nothing left to him now but the taut leather of his pants, and her hands slid up his legs, up to the place she had massaged not long before. The place that was starting to throb. Slim fingers picked at his zipper. She was so gentle, it made no rasping noise, each one of the teeth separating from the others with an individual click, and for a moment of pure agony, he could feel her breath on himself-- _there_.

Then the leather slid away, and he stepped free, naked.

She got to her feet again, and he watched her admiring him. She brushed away even the hair that spilled over his shoulders, so that he hid behind nothing, bared completely to her innocent curiosity.

She bent forward and kissed his chest. Heat spread outward from the contact, like a flower opening beneath his skin, petals unfurling in sweet sensations of mingled wonder and delight.

His body pleased her.

He was not alone in his desire.

* * *

Aeris stepped back from him, and started to unbutton her dress. His cat's-eyes opened, and he stopped her, covering both her hands with one of his. 

"May I?" he asked.

She blushed again, but nodded.

Taking her by the shoulders, he settled her back on the ground. The damp cloth was cold now, and only her own arousal kept her from feeling chilled, but she had waited far too long to rush this, and Sephiroth, as he had promised, was in no hurry.

He began at the bottom. His long, pale hands were gentle, an artist's hands, fluid and careful. He touched none of her skin, but she felt the warmth of his presence, the coolness of her wet clothing peeling open. He made the act of undressing her exquisitely sexual, and he watched her face as he savored each moment of tension and release as button after button gave way, each one a little barrier to be conquered, each conquering celebrated by stretching the fabric to its new limit.

Every inch of her was raised gooseflesh, but it had nothing to do with the cold of her clothing, but rather the liquid flame building in her core.

Her thighs were exposed to him now, and she felt his fingers tremble: the faintest lapse in his control as he moved higher, plucking open the buttons that hid her underwear. She braced for his disappointment. Her underwear selection had been dictated by practicality, not optimism. It wouldn't have mattered _what_ she'd started out with, though, because travel and rough washings had left them frayed, discolored and sweat-stained.

He did not seem to notice, as if his eyes were skipping over that part of her, moving up to the dip of her belly, the slope of her ribs. He changed tactics when he reached her breasts, no longer spreading the fabric out after each button gave way, simply tugging each one open and letting the dress settle into two halves. When he finished, he trailed one finger down between the cleft of her breasts, and she closed her eyes, glorying in the quivering he sent through her. His finger trailed up again, up to the hollow of her throat, and she felt the little ribbon at her neck give way. He leaned forward, silent now without his leather, and buried his hand in her hair, tilting her head to the side as he twined long fingers deep into the soft brown mass, massaging her scalp in slow circles. Her pink ribbon came away with a sigh, and he angled her head up further so he could undo the lower one.

Only then, when her wet hair spun free of its twisting braid and tumbled around her face, did he turn his attention back to her dress.

He jerked it open roughly, in a single motion that left him staring down at her heaving chest.

Aeris tried to cover herself with her hands, but he swatted them away, making a little tsking noise.

She started to sit up, to apologize for the way she looked, started to explain about needing to conserve healing energy for more important things than clothes. "I know I must look terrible. I'm--" His fingers on her mouth silenced her.

"_I'm _sorry," he said. His hand went lower, and he traced the wire showing through the base, the frayed sides nearly worn through. He cupped her breast, and spoke to the tattered little undergarment. "If she's been hurt, it's _my_ fault. If not for me, she could have stayed safe in a drawer in Midgar."

He looked up then, apologizing for everything with his gaze.

"She didn't want to stay safe in Midgar. She wanted to be with you."

He closed his eyes slowly, smiling wistfully at whatever he saw behind his eyelids, then released her, and Aeris lay back, feeling the glow of his eyes as she opened the bra for him and slipped it off her shoulders, showing him the soft roundness of her breasts, tipped with the hardened little peaks of her nipples. She heard his breathing come fast and ragged.

"I forgive you," she whispered, hooking her thumbs beneath her plain, somewhat threadbare underwear.

Hands were on hers, stopping her.

He held her like that for a moment, his half-closed eyes shining down on her body. She watched him wide-eyed, hopeful and a little nervous.

Silvery hair slid forward, and she felt the silken weight of it against her womanhood. He was torturously slow in pulling down the little garment, moving with a dreamlike languor, rolling it expertly over her raised hips. It slid down her thighs, over her shins, twisting into a little knot by the time he pulled it away.

She lay for a moment, eyes closed, waiting.

"Aeris . . . I have to stop." His voice sounded strained. "I have to be careful. I don't want to hurt you--" But he spoke more to himself than to her, and his face contorted with a very different desire. Aeris felt a pang of fear. He was so, so much stronger than she was, and she, more than anyone, knew exactly how bad his "bad days" might be.

"Seph--" When she touched him, the muscles in his arm were corded steel. "This time is special. Let's make it gentle. Someday, we'll--"

He seized her by the shoulders and drove her to the ground. His grin was all teeth.

"No!" Aeris cried, and at the sound of her frightened yelp, the half-mad leer drained away.

"I'm sorry!" he said, freeing her and backing away. "I'm sorry. I didn't-- really hurt you did I? I didn't mean--"

"It's all right. I know you're trying," she whispered. She sat up and reached for him, brushing one of his forelocks out of his face. "Come with me."

She took him by the hands and rose, and he followed her obediently.

* * *

She led him down into the clear water, warm and sacred as a womb. 

His body was lean and strong, white and silver of a room full of golden light and a thousand glittering rainbows. He was in _her_ people's world now, out of place and yet belonging: a center point, as he was the center point of her heart. She could forgive him everything, love him in spite of-- and even for-- his many shortcomings.

The warmth of the pool made the water seem like an extension of their bodies and each ripple and surge became a shared caress, lovemaking without touching. He followed her down the steps, followed her deeper until the water was at his waist, but he stopped, while she swam out a little way, letting the pool warm her skin. She dove to the bottom, eyes open, watching the Cetra symbols shimmer around her like golden stars. They almost hummed with magic.

She touched one of them, and the glyph blazed beneath her hand, and she knew-- suddenly-- why she had taken him to the water, even though she needed him as badly as he needed her.

She wanted to wash him, here in this sacred place. Wash away his hurt, his loneliness and anger and shame, and lead him out into a new life.

She turned in the water and broke the surface face-first, so that her hair swept back from her face, clinging to her skull more tamely. That would have to do instead of a priestess' headdress.

At her prompting, he bent down, kneeling on a step beneath her. His hair fell down straight, but underwater it billowed outward in a cloud of silvery strands. The water was clear in her cupped hands, and she saw her own face wobbling on the surface.

"The water is pure, my love," she said. "If you let it, it will teach you to be both yielding and strong."

She had expected him to be confused and little resistant to the demonstration, but as the water spilled onto his silver-white head, he only sighed: a tinkling, magical sound. When he looked up at her again, he smiled. Not the cruel, mocking twist of his lips, but a real smile, that began in his catty eyes and spread outward.


	49. All Things Sacred: Part Two

Disclaimer: Square Enix owns what Square Enix came up with.

Further Disclaimer: **This scene contains material NOT appropriate for all ages or tastes. Kindly leave if you suspect this will make you or those responsible for you unhappy.**

* * *

He loved her. 

He wanted to say it, but the declaration still did not come easily to him. He had been so painfully clumsy earlier, forcing the phrase from his body so it came out leaden and stiff: empty words that filled with truth as he spoke them.

He _loved_ her: _gods_, how he did. He clung to the emotion as desperately as he had fled from it before, with all the ferocity of long denial.

Again, she dipped her hands and poured the sacred spring water over his head. She was washing him, washing away sorrow and isolation, the empty riches and the fame that meant nothing to him. He saw his own face distorted in the water and almost failed to recognize it as his. He looked-- happy.

She murmured to him, telling him she was making him clean, telling him his body was beautiful.

For a third time, warm water ran over his scalp and dribbled in little crystal beads down the shining strands of his hair.

For an instant, he wondered what the long-silent Ancients would say if they knew what sorts of things he was thinking of while being baptized.

Things that had nothing to do with holiness.

Or perhaps his desire had _everything_ to do with the sacred.

_Aeris,_you _are my salve-water, my cleansing spring_,_ and all this holy water is your embrace. Touching you is touching my own healing. With you I am not merely regenerated-- I am reborn._

She sidled up to him, and he was keenly aware of her nearness and her nudity, and the way the warm water did little to dispel his desire. Her touch was different now: wet fingertips running slowly up his pale chest, down the ridges of his stomach.

Nearer, and nearer still, and then her body was against his. Below the surface, her hip brushed him, the water muting the contact, but above, her nipples touched his chest, then her breasts pressed flat against him, and the curve of her ribs angled against his. He felt each point of contact as acutely as if it were pain.

Her skin was warm, a damp embrace that made him shiver, and he touched her, hands sliding down her shoulders, her back. Lower.

The kiss was deep, unhurried, part exploration and part claiming. He played at lovemaking, stroking her tongue and the roof of her mouth. His hunger for her was building again, but he held himself back. For her, he _would_ be careful.

She leaned into him, her mouth opening, angling first one way, then the other to grant deeper access. Below the water he felt a growing need, which only worsened when she pressed against him harder, pushing them both deeper into the water. They slipped on one of the golden symbols, and the stairs bit into his back when he sat. For a moment, they were both completely underwater, but she still kissed him, her naked hunger turning to mad urgency. He brought them up for air, returning her kisses fervently.

Did she want it like this? Now? Here in the water?

She broke off abruptly and he bit back a curse.

She sat straddling him, head down on his chest, panting.

Damn_ it, Aeris! I need you _now!

But he cut the thought off and let her pull away, finding her footing on the stone stairs.

When she looked up at him, her eyes were bright as summer meadows.

He saw the question, and in answer, he nodded.

He_ was _ready. He could make her his like a man, not a demon.

Water splashed as he reached up to touch her face.

_Come to me, glorious lady._

She took his hand in both of hers, and pressed it against her cheek, leaning her head into his roughened palm.

She looked so purely innocent, so trusting, with her eyes closed, skin soft as petals against his calluses. She was treasuring him. It made his heart flare to life, bound him to her with an unshakable devotion.

This time was special. This time, he would hide behind no salacious words, no domineering. Those were games were for other nights. Now she would have _him_, his true heart, if she would have it. She would know him for what he was: purely, solely, entirely bound to her.

She smiled up at him, and now her eyes were black pools edged with green.

"Sephiroth," she whispered, "it's time."

He swallowed. "Alright."

She swatted water at him and, with a saucy little toss of her head, replied, "_Wrong_ answer."

He remembered then, that other night, how he had flung her to his bed, snarling at a hesitation he had only imagined in her.

Sephiroth grinned and chuckled. "I'm yours," he said. Then his smile slid away and he added more soberly, "I'm yours."

She grew serious too and he reached for her hand and pulled it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. He drew her towards him, felt her lean into his embrace, and he bent down to cradle her, one arm looping around her shoulders, the other slipping beneath her knees as she clung to his neck. Her body dripped a gown of diamond spray as he lifted her out of the water.

_Be merciful, my captor, _he thought, his gaze on her shining eyes._ I am in your hands._

He carried her up the stairs, over the threshold between water and earth, and laid her down in the light, setting her on the soft moss so that her hair fanned out among the star-shaped flowers: the corporeal embodiment of his first vision.

For a long moment, he only looked at her, at the way the water droplets on her skin caught the light and flashed, at his shadow slashing across her body.

Then he leaned over her.

He would begin with her face.

* * *

The first kiss was to her forehead, crowning her, and she breathed his name in answer: "Sephiroth." 

His lips touched her right eye, kissing it closed, and again she whispered his name. Then her left, his lower lip caressing her eyelid, and again she answered: "Sephiroth."

His mouth moved over hers, parted lips open as he shared his breath with her. He denied her the kiss though, moving lower and touching his mouth to her shoulder, her elbow, her wrist.

"Sephiroth, Sephiroth, Sephiroth."

Each light kiss was a question, each ragged murmur a reply. It was a divine catechism, a little liturgy: each of his kisses a priest's canticle, each of her sighs the congregation's answer.

He kissed his way down her left arm, and with each press of his lips, she named a little more of her body as his possession.

He bent down, defying gravity as he hovered above the soft swells of her breasts. His hands covered each one, fondling her with the faintest of caresses: brushing the nearly-invisible golden hairs of her skin.

_Gods_, how he wanted to make her feel. He wanted her to ache for him the way he ached for her, wanted her to tremble in irresistible agony.

He cupped her breasts more firmly, massaging the yielding flesh. His breath was on her skin, and he bent still lower, drawing her tightened nipples across his eyelids. When he kissed her, he kissed her heart, feeling her pulse fluttering beneath his lips.

"Sephiroth."

He ran his hands lower, smooth and slow and inexorable as deep water, down the slope of her waist, the flare of her hips. Her skin was pliant to the touch but roughened with chills. He settled himself between her legs, lifting the right one to his lips. He kissed his way down her thigh, kissed her knee, her calf, her ankle. And each time she answered, "Sephiroth." He turned to her other leg, administering the same treatment, leaving no part of her untouched, no part that did not answer to his name.

He paused then, waiting until her senses returned before continuing. Dark, sparkling eyes opened, and she saw his intent.

_Yes, my pet, you know what's next._

Only then did he spread her thighs, slipping his hands beneath her hips, raising her, hooking her legs over his shoulders. His name came quietly-- a faint whimpering sound-- as he kissed the pit of her belly, the place where his child would grow one day. Then he moved her higher.

For a moment, he only looked, smiling down at the amber curls that quivered when he breathed, at that most intimate part of her being, which wept now-- hungry for him.

He would kiss those tears away.

But he made her wait for it, keeping the first kiss like all the others: innocent and unhurried, listening to the melody of her voice moaning his name. The word was strained now, faltering and desperate. Then he breathed deep into her secret lips as he had into her mouth, and this time, he did not deny the kiss. She gave a little breathless wail as his mouth covered her, and he closed his eyes, losing himself in the delectable taste of her flesh.

_Cetra taste better_, he thought, and smiled to himself as he ran his tongue deeper.

* * *

Author's Note: 

I have heard it said that great magicians never reveal their tricks. Me, being a moderately crappy magician, will say this:

According to some kabbalistic traditions, the ten sephiroth correspond to ten different parts of the body, so when Sephiroth kisses Aeris, he is, in fact, tracing over her body the sephiroth-tree from which he gets his name.

For those who don't know, "sephiroth" (or "sephirodt") is a Hebrew word literally meaning "numbers" or "enumerations." The kabbalah is a mystical branch of Judaism, which uses the sephiroth to describe the ten attributes of God. I know very little about kabbalistic sex, other than that it places heavy emphasis on breathing. (In Hebrew, the word for "breath" and "spirit" are the same word.)

And to everyone who's encouraged me with emails or reviews—once again, thank you! You don't know how much it means to me.


	50. All Things Sacred: Part Three

Disclaimer: Square Enix still maintains all rights to Sephiroth, Aeris and FFVII.

Further Disclaimer: If sex scenes aren't for you, just _keep on trucking_. The "skip-it" arrow is up and to the right.

* * *

He loved her with lips and tongue and teeth: probing, teasing, stroking. 

She was screaming his name now, her voice strained as she pleaded with him.

Then he closed his mouth over the tip of her and sucked, drawing every sensation to him. He pulled back abruptly, replacing his mouth with gentle fingers that trembled with his own need.

She whimpered at the denial, tottering on the brink of fulfillment, and he shifted, never breaking the quick circles his fingers made, but positioning himself to take her.

She met him franticly, wrapping shaking legs around him, and her thighs tensed. Her eyes were shut fast, but she felt him, hot and hard, pushing at her entrance, and her soft mewling cries suddenly gained volume: "Sephiroth! Sephiroth! Sephir- _oh! oh! oh!_"

The feeling of _him_, cutting into her body with his own, sent her falling into a blind abyss of pleasure, that mortal paradise he had shown her so long before. She lost even that one word: his name, as he entered her, and she could only cry out in unintelligible ecstasy as he filled her. Her hands dug into the moss, and the smell of the crushed herb mingled with the scent of their merging bodies. Her mind blanked. Her body spasmed. All she could see was white, and she neither knew nor cared if it was the light from the sun above, or the pleasure-blindness surging through her from below. _He_ was inside her: at _last_, at long last, her one-winged angel was taking her.

* * *

He did not remember starting the fire, but after several moments, he gulped enough air to open his eyes-- and there it was: a blazing circle of flame all around them. 

_With this ring, I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship._

Her flushed features twisted as his maleness disappeared inside her. Her lips parted, her eyes screwed tight as he pressed his body down into hers millimeter by wracking millimeter, drawing out her moment of rapture as he lowered himself into pure bliss.

And he bent over her, his lips finding her neck, and sucked hard, grounding himself as her body finished bucking.

* * *

Her hands unclenched and her eyes opened slowly as her body relaxed, sensitive now in the afterglow. But the kiss to her neck was still so fierce as to be painful, and the pale flesh above her was tense and shuddering. "Sephiroth," she said. "But you didn't--" 

"Sssh . . . " His mouth was on hair now. "That was for you. _I_ wanted it-- like _this_."

* * *

He rolled to his back, moving her above him, a process that drew itself out in delicious torment, because each tensing of a muscle, each shift of her body, sent an arc of pleasure through the part of him buried deep inside her. 

When at last he lay beneath her, he murmured, "I want you, my angel. All of you." Sunlight bathed her, and his hands moved up her thighs, over her hips, her waist, her back: soft white shadows caressing her.

"What should I--?"

"Just relax. Do whatever comes naturally to you." He pulled her down so he could whisper in her ear: "Love me, Aeris."

He had hoped the unfamiliar position would distract him, and make this moment last, but as soon as she shifted, he knew that was impossible. It had been far too long, and he needed her far too badly. Her body glowed above him, and her secret mouth was kissing him, tasting him. The sunrays streaming down gave her a white halo: he was coupling with an angel, making love to pure light. All he could do was cling to her and enjoy whatever she did.

She started to move.

Her hips shifted in gentle circles, carefully at first. She kissed him, and he gripped her, holding her head cupped in one of his hands, while his hair whispered up her thighs like white flames. She had him-- gods, how she had him,-- but there was something innocent, almost tentative in their love-play. Twin souls wrestling in the sparkling womb of the world.

She ground her hips against him and he sucked air through his teeth.

_Not quite innocent, then. _

She rose, her back arching, thrusting her breasts out. She pulled back from him, only to slide onto him again: silk that burned.

Tension built; deeper and more intimate than anything he had ever known. He found that it would be easier to fly, or at least float, but he did not feel that he was exerting any effort-- simply, releasing the ground. He was rewarded by her startled, delighted gasp, and then her hands clung to his shoulders as she gave herself to him again and again, each gentle movement stabbing him with sheer rapture. She was above him, lips parted, brow furrowed as she poured her heat onto his burning body.

_Gods, what a fool. _

What an arrogant fool to think he could fight this, even for the best of reasons.

He was fire and air.

She was earth and water.

He could no more separate himself from her than he could from his own shadow, or his own soul. Her face was flushed, her skin glowing pink as if she were a live porcelain lantern. And he was the flame inside her.

What she was doing to him was more than passion, more than pleasure. Pleasure had been her hands undressing him: this was more like dying.

Again and yet again her body enveloped him with pulsing perfection, making his muscles clench and the tightness inside him change to a fierce ache. He lost himself suddenly-- face to face with her, staring into her eyes: her's the color of the Planet's grassy gown, his the color of its blood. At first, he felt only a deep, slow tremble, not so much exhilaration as intimacy-- sharing himself completely. Then euphoria broke through. Bliss gripped him and he was beyond thought, beyond caution, wave upon wave of searing ecstasy pounding through him like the tide of a hot sea.

The pleasure was excruciating.

He could not see, or hear, or think. He could not cry out, could not weep, the flawless consummation too intense even for tears. But his head fell back and his breath caught in his throat, his lips parted in a soundless-- "oh." He twisted beneath her in panting, paralyzed ecstasy, writhing as she tortured him with heaven.

* * *

He was on the ground, then, the fire subsiding around them. Aeris lay curled in his arms, and he had rolled her to her back; he was still inside her, throbbing with spent passion. 

He stayed as long as he dared, until he worried that he was getting uncomfortable for her, but when he moved to pull away, her legs twined around him tighter.

"Stay," she whispered. Satiated contentment smoothed her perfect face, and she sounded sleepy.

In each sweat-slippery touch, in each surging aftershock, her _acceptance_ of him coursed through his body.

He gave a little trembling, half-disbelieving laugh-- and stayed.

* * *

"Seph?" She was groggily aware of two glowing green eyes in the darkness. "Honey, you're still awake?" 

He shushed her, and the buckles of his coat jingled as he rearranged it over them.

"Go to sleep, love," she murmured, half-asleep herself.

He touched her face, smoothing away the little worry line on her forehead. "Can't. Don't want to wake up."

She smiled a little, giving a little waking mumble, and kissed his chest as she curled tighter against him.

"Love you," she whispered softly.

"I love you, too," he sighed, and the words flowed easily this time. He pressed her close until the rhythm of her breathing settled into the deeper cadence of sleep. Only then did he lie back. Above, the night was milky with starlight, and he smiled up at the heavens: a small, tear-trembling smile.

"Thank you," he whispered to the sky, which winked down at him.


	51. All Things Profane: Part One

Disclaimer: Square Enix owns all that Square Enix came up with.

Evil Author's Note: You didn't really think it was going to be that easy, did you? Sorry folks, but you know a childhood of prolonged, intense psychological abuse does not disappear in a night, no matter how magical . . . You may have forgotten the crazy, but the crazy has not forgotten you.

* * *

He woke up panting, suffocating on a scream. Cold metal clamps gripped his limbs. 

_Shadows on the whitewashed walls . . ._

He shook violently, pain slashing through his veins with every heartbeat.

But it wasn't the mako that burned.

He saw her, dressed in white lab coat, making notes on a clipboard. She glanced at him without recognition.

_You've participated very nicely in our little experiment. _ Her green eyes were hard and flat. _The professor will be so pleased. You were beginning to get difficult to control._

He blinked.

_Experiment . . . It was all . . ._ _N-No . . .  
_

She injected him again, and he could not keep back the guttural gasp.

He wanted to cry out to her, to throw himself at her feet and beg, but the restraints bit into his arms, and whatever she had given him made his lungs burn so badly he could scarcely draw breath.

_No, please . . . You can't . . .  
_

She turned to leave.

He did not care who saw him, did not care if Shinra broadcast his humiliation across every station in the world.

_Not you, please, not you. I'll do anything . . . just don't let this be another lie!_

Something was tearing inside him. She was the only one who had stirred his soul, and the only one who could murder it.

She snapped off the rubber gloves she used to touch him with, and washed her hands with alcohol.

_Filthy specimen . . . viral research sample . . . disease . . ._

_Please . . . please, even if you can't love me-- don't go!_

Laughter.

_You stupid little shit. You honestly thought all that was real? Women want power. Everyone wants power._

The words echoed, rattling sharply in his mind. Blood pounded in his ears.

Light reflected off Hojo's glasses, but Sephiroth felt the gloating contempt pouring down from the observation room.

_Allow me to show you just how powerless you are._

Pain lanced through his skull, his chest, his limbs.

And then he watched as she walked into _his_ arms-- and kissed him, watched her arch her lovely neck into thin, hard lips.

He watched and felt-- nothing, as if all his emotions lay on the other side of that pane of glass.

_Now you know the truth, my son._

The voice was a deep, syrup-sweet crooning, a lullaby sung through viscous liquid.

Calming.

_It's alright, dearest boy. Can you honestly say you didn't partly _expect_ this?_

He remembered the voice from years ago, in a cold, quiet town that should have been filled with flame. Beautiful, like an incantation. It spoke of belonging somewhere in a world that wanted only to betray him.

She had always been with him.

_Mother._

Even when he was nothing but a tiny sliver of life, floating just as she was floating, he had heard her. A man's voice raised in anger. A woman pleading and crying. And that voice-- mocking the creatures outside, whispering of fire.

_There, there, my sweet child. That's it. Give in to your despair. Mother's here. Mother . . . has you. _

"Sephiroth! Wake up! Seph, snap out of it!"

Someone was grabbing at him, shaking him.

He forced the hands away roughly, snarling, "_Never _touch me!" Injections and surgeries and beatings-- those he understood, but he _despised _the hands that touched him. Nothing left him feeling more _used_.

"Wake_ up_!"

This command was accompanied by a smart slap across his face.

It didn't hurt much, but little, pricking pains were often followed by agony.

He whirled on his attacker-- a woman. Naked. Dimly, he knew he should recognize her.

He answered her slap with his fist.

Something crunched, her head snapped to the side, and she crashed into a wall. She stared up at him, one of her hands cupping her jaw, eyes wide. She whispered something that sounded like: "So soon?"

_Her eyes-- a sparkling, glossy green like dew-covered ivy. _

_The woman in his dream._

_Aeris._

He had just struck Aeris.

_Yes, son, this is what you were _made _for. Hit her again._

Some part of his mind shrieked in protest.

Her forehead was bleeding where it cut on the wall. Darkness had changed the glittering gemstones into so many sharp, dark rocks.

She flung herself away from him and ran, still clutching her cheek.

_She's running from you, my boy, because she knows you've found the truth._

He sprang after, knocking her forward and landing with his knee pressed to the small of her back. She lay sprawled on the rocky ground, winded and gasping, and he wrenched her arms behind her back, pinning her flat with his weight.

"_Where_ do you think you're going?" he snarled.

Dream or not, he _knew_it was real. His subconscious had informed him of what his mind refused to grasp. What was more likely? That she had come to him, open-handed and beaming, loving him after knowing him for a few short, frenzied hours, wanting nothing more than his smile? Ridiculous. She had a _reason _for stripping his defenses, if not a reason of her own, then someone she worked for. Perhaps Rufus Shinra had survived somehow, or the president himself. This would be so very like the games they played: the endless whitewashed labyrinths of false hope, teaching him at every turn that human warmth was never for _him_.

Or perhaps it wasn't Shinra. Avalanche had discovered his weakness for her too, and they, too, needed a powerful puppet.

_Damn!_

And he had made it so appallingly _easy _for them.

"You think I'll let you run _now_? Who's paying you? _Who?_"

Green white light glowed on her face as she repaired the damage to her jaw. "Seph, this isn't you!" she cried, wriggling against his grasp. "Honey,_wake up_!"

_Oh, I'm awake. _Finally._ You drugged me. Made me dream. But _now_ I see. _

"Do you think I haven't played this game before? Do you think I don't know what you're doing? Baiting me to test my reactions, _laughing _at me all the while? Who were you thinking of when you lay in my arms? Was it Shinra? Was it Cloud? Was it _Vincent Valentine_?"

Her words were steady and surprisingly calm. "There's never been anyone but--"

"_Liar!_"

* * *

This was not her Sephiroth. This was no one she knew. 

She had to get away, and quickly.

She had seen flashes of this man, the cold and cunning killer, when they first met and in video clips. She should have expected this-- healing meant reopening a lot of old wounds, reliving torture he had only survived by burying in the recesses of his mind. What had so nearly driven him mad in Nibelheim five years ago was not only Jenova's presence-- it was facing what he had forced himself to forget.

Even worse, Shinra's lies and Jenova's false promises bred in him a deep-set fear of betrayal. How often had he discovered that those who held all his trust and loyalty were deceiving him, using him-- mocking him? Too many times for one life.

And Jenova remained in him still, Aeris could see her in his glowing eyes. The Dark Harbinger had seized these fragile moments, when all his defenses were down, to turn him against her.

_Gods, _why _did I think I would have more _time?

What _had _he dreamed?

He twisted her arm behind her until she panted in pain.

"Seph, _stop _this! If you want to make love again, we can, but--!"

His lips curved gently against her ear and his breath was warm, but his words were pitiless steel. "I'm not going to make love to you," he purred. "I'm going to _fuck _you."

* * *

He hadn't meant to, until she said that, had not consciously acknowledged his tense discomfort down there, but he was suddenly, keenly aware of how tantalizing her bare body was. And the effect her squirming had on him. 

He wrenched her head sideways and crushed his mouth down on hers in a punishing kiss.

_Gods_, it felt_ good_: the thrill of absolute dominance, of forcing his way through the trembling resistance of her lips.

He released her long enough to grasp at the strip of pink he had seen from the corner of his eye. His hand closed over the ribbon even as she struggled out from under him, rolling away and floundering to her feet. He was on her in a flash, slamming her back to the ground and twisting her to her back. He seized both of her wrists in with one hand and pinned them above her head. His free hand groped her breasts and his mouth bruised hers-- taking, taking.

"I _hate _you," he whispered, and meant it. "You make me _weak_."

"Sephiroth, please, come back to me. Seph, _tell_ me what's wrong!"

"Sssh, now, no talking."

* * *

As he gagged her with her own hair ribbon, she thought: _This _is _him, too. I knew that from the beginning._ _Part of him fears me for making him _feel_, and his fear makes him Shinra's Fury, the Butcher of Wutai, the Waking Nightmare. Part of him cannot accept anything beautiful happening to him, and will try to drive us apart._

Besides that, his was a devilish beauty, and loving him was loving a flickering flame: searing, capricious, and never truly tame. Was it a secret wickedness of her own that drew her so inexorably toward him? Some part of her that wanted to lie exposed beneath his darkest desires, wanted to make him hunger for her beyond all sense of conscience?

She fought, though, beating him with her fists and clawing at his arms. But she may as well have been hitting the gem-lined walls. He finished tying the knot and tested the tension of the gag, then, almost as an afterthought, splayed her arms out, holding her down by wrists held level with her head.

Above him, the night sky darkened as clouds blotted out the stars. Not rain clouds, but a billowing smog-- a sick, tainted ash blacker than the night, and she remembered, suddenly, that this man wielded enough power to overcome all her healing skills. He pushed her legs apart with his knees, spreading her open, and showed his teeth-- something between a exultant leer and a snarl. His black wing unfurled: shadow in the unnatural night.

She stopped speculating about her sexuality. Now she only hoped she would live. If no miracle intervened, if no one came to save her, she might well not see the morning.

What had called to him five years ago, had claimed him tonight.

The dark god had come into his power.


	52. All Things Profane: Part Two

Disclaimer: Still here for the sheer joy of fiddling with Square Enix's property. Or ruining it, depending on who you ask.

Author's Note: I know a lot of you thought he was just being stupid by running from her. Well, he was and he wasn't. He actually has a pretty clear bead on what he's capable of. Inasmuch to say, this chapter is rather horrid. Feel free to skip, you can figure out what happened just by reading the next one. Oh, and there's sex. So if you're avoiding that… avoid this.

* * *

He plunged into her, and she bit down hard on her gag. For a moment, he could not move-- her body captivating him once again. 

Then she struggled, harder than ever, her body bucking against his invasion. That felt even better, but if he wasn't careful she would squirm away. "You're lying to me with all this struggling, my sweet," he hissed. "I _know _you like it as much as I do, and _you _should know lying only tempts me to be-- _brutal_."

She stopped her struggles and lay braced, so he bit her shoulder, hard, to make her writhe. She flailed against him, her body sparkling with white-green light, healing magic that made his skin tingle.

He began to work inside her, plundering her again and again. She did not scream, but tears beaded in her eyes. Hours before, he had stopped immediately at the first sign of her fear. Now he only laughed and forced her down harder, grinning.

It was good. So good he was already panting through his teeth. The light of his eyes cast her face in an eerie green glow, which made her look sick with fear. He did not like that, so he swept his wing over her, using it to hold her arms down and cover her face with black feathers.

Now she was no ethereal lover; she was an object of pure lust, and he craved her helplessness, her distress. Now there was no water or fire, only darkness and demand and the scent of her terror.

He threw himself into her deep and hard: reckless, merciless, caring only for the ecstasy of mastery and the madness of his hunger.

* * *

"Are you sure we did the right thing?" 

Nanaki was pacing, nervous and unsettled in the way of animals before a storm.

Vincent_ had_ been sure. He had been sure when they split the group: leaving Barrett and Cid and Reeve in charge of Midgar, along with Yuffie—who wanted nothing to do with Sephiroth. He had been sure when they entered the Forbidden Forest, Cloud and Tifa leading the way on Fenrir.

But now, as the sky above the glowing trees went black with clouds that poured ash instead of rain-- now, sickeningly, he was not sure.

Not at all.

* * *

_If only I'd had more time. If only he'd told me what his nightmare was. I could have told him I understood._

He did not seem to notice how much damage he was doing. Three times already, he had snapped both of her wrists like twigs, and each of his thrusts had enough inhuman force to make her bleed. Her Cetra genes gave her body endurance, but it was also softer than a human's and more easily bruised. For a time, they were matched stroke for stroke: he rammed into her-- tearing, destroying, and she healed herself-- and offered healing.

But the journey and the battles she'd fought had taken their toll. She was exhausted, and Sephiroth's unnatural strength only gained ferocity when he was physically weak.

_The strength of the Crisis._

She whose great skill was destroying Ancients.

_Planet, this isn't him. He doesn't know what he's doing. Please, forgive him._

"Say you're mine! Say it!"

He ripped the gag off, waiting for her to scream for him. But she closed her eyes-- and began to sing:

"_With quiet step and gentle face,  
With tattered cloak, and empty hands--"  
_

His hands closed over her throat.

The last of her healing energy sent a few green sparks through her abdomen, a weak whorl that did more to ease the pain than actually heal. She was sweating, but she felt cold, and she choked as her vision darkened around the edges. Instinct made her pry feebly at the grip on her neck even though one of her arms had to be broken, but she had no more strength to fight. Blood loss and pain made her head spin, and the sneering shadow above her merged with the darkness as her vision went black.

_Perhaps this was the only way it could end. He and I together, but forever apart. _

_His were the only hands that could end my life, and he is killing himself when he kills me._

She felt sorry for him.

He was going to miss her so very badly.

* * *

He released her neck as he neared his climax, pounding her body with his, and he struck her-- once, twice, again. The fine-boned face cracked from side to side, shattering like porcelain beneath his fist. His release was pleasureless: a shuddering in his body that had far more to do with punishment and control than joy. 

He was still inside her, still throbbing with aftershocks, when her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled: a smile he recognized from a dozen other Cycles. It was the smile of a true martyr, a bloody, broken-toothed death-smile that cut like a scythe. Her screaming and her fighting and her tears had not moved him, but now, now when the deed was complete, her smile split the darkness in his mind: fading light driving out familiar insanity.

Then her eyes rolled back in her shattered skull, and her frame went limp as her spirit left her body.

And he knew what he had done.


	53. Blood and Water

Disclaimer: Standard line about Square Enix owning all Square Enix intellectual property.

* * *

_It can't be real . . ._

_I didn't . . . I couldn't have . . ._

_Gods, please let this be the dream._

He scrambled away, his black wing dissolving into a flurry of ash and feathers, but her blood was on his hands, and his body still throbbed its gratification.

For a moment, he clung desperately to the dissipating wisps of suspicion and rage, the frenzy that had blinded him. But the lies left as cruelly as they had come, thinning into nothing like the tainted clouds above.

Aeris had loved him, and he had loved her-- or he thought he had. What lover could be capable of--?

The sky had cleared and dawn-tinted clouds ran across the morning like pink scars, and light filtered down, touching her wax-white skin. Skin that his hands had stained deep violet-green. He could see the imprint of his fingers on her neck. Sightless eyes stared darkly out at nothing, and her hands relaxed, making a hideous little _schlick_ noise as her fingernails peeled out of her palms. One of her wrists lay twisted at an awkward angle and his teethmarks left bloody ovals on her shoulder.

He could not look at the other place that bled, although the hemorrhaging there was far worse.

He must have crushed her hips with his own.

He shook again, more violently than he had when he first woke. That had been less than twenty minutes ago, and in that brief interlude between sleep and waking he had-- he had--

_Holy gods . . ._

He fell to his hands and knees, shaking so badly he could hardly keep from collapsing, and wretched violently into the moss. His eyes were clamped so tightly shut that tears came, as he tried-- and failed-- to block out the mental image of her body lying broken and still.

He was worse than the violent drunks in her childhood slums. At least the mat-haired junkies and the greasy pimps let their women _survive_.

And the worst of it was . . . she had done _nothing_.

She _had _come to him, open-handed and smiling, trusting him to find some better nature that lay beneath his insanity.

And how he had repaid her . . .

He had-- forced himself on her: violating her body and soul.

For all his best intentions, for all her Ancient's beauty and the Planet's magic, for all his heart's truest desire . . . he had lasted not _one_ day.

The morning played again in his head, like a video that he had no power to stop watching.

The only woman he loved, the only soul he had ever prized, fighting him for her life. He saw again her eyes go wide, her body crumple into the wall, her head thrash, the muscles in her arms taut with desperation. He felt the tremble of her unwilling flesh, smelled her fear and helplessness-- tasted her tears of pain.

And all he had thought of was the thrill of conquest.

He felt ill again.

"Aeris . . .?"

He was still on hands and knees, but he looked over at her, at the victim sacrificed on the altar of his delusions.

Three of her teeth lay in a puddle of blood beside her.

No answer.

There would never be any answer.

His fingers dug into the ground, and he screamed, screamed as he had not screamed since he was a boy, when he had made his throat bleed with his own shrieking.

"You _stupid bitch!_" He leapt to his feet and stalked toward her. "I told you to stay away! Why didn't you listen to me? Did you think I didn't know what would happen? Did you think I could be gentle forever? I wanted you _safe_! I wanted-- all I wanted . . ." He choked, could speak no more, and half-fell to the ground beside her, cradling her broken body against him and rocking her forward and back, forward and back.

He stopped, abruptly, when he heard what he was whimpering.

_I love you, I love you . . . Don't leave me . . . Don't leave . . ._

She was still warm, and the warmth accused him.

He should have driven her off, should have cursed her, should have struck her to make her stay away. Anything, anything but this.

She, the bright, vivacious creature, who actually enjoyed living, was dead. And he was trapped forever in life.

_Planet . . . all I asked was to be left to my despair. I knew I shouldn't touch her. I knew I was too far gone. What did I do, how did I wrong you, to make you taunt me with hope? _

To his surprise, he heard an answer.

"_Listen . . ."_

A drop plopped into the pool, breaking the still surface and spreading perfect rings of golden morning light across the water.

And another sound.

What _was _that? Was it only rigor mortis setting in, making her corpse twitch? Or was it--

A breath?

No, not a breath, something fainter than a breath. Like a soul knocking on the gate between heaven and earth.

Fainter than when she'd been shot, but there.

He thought he knew enough about death to recognize it when he saw it, but the oddities of her Ancient's body had made him miss a few faint signs. He _did_ know death well enough to know that it was usually not a moment, so much as a process.

She was, by every medical term, dead: her limbs cooling, lungs still, her consciousness already dissipating into the Lifestream. But she was not completely gone yet. He almost felt her fingers on his arm, almost believed he could turn suddenly and stagger into her presence.

The Cetra legends he'd read came back to him.

_Life is bound in blood. Blood is bound in water. _

Water could capture a Cetra spirit, if it did not wish to dissipate. Sometimes for years.

_I could call her back._

_I, alone._

Some other might have managed to preserve her soul in water, either by luck or skill, but _he_ had studied the arts of both the Cetra and the humans. She needed _him_ now. And he needed all the power he had left to him, needed all the latent magic hidden in this place, if he was going to help her.


	54. How Grave a Sin

Disclaimer: Still doing this just for fun. Square owns all that Square invented.

* * *

Floating-- buoyed by warm water.

Rainbows.

Light.

Warmth.

Ifalna humming and Gast's laughter.

The underwater sound of water rushing into water, like lying in a tub and listening to it fill.

A deep well of borrowed power coursed through her veins, power from her people and power from another, darker source.

She remembered, and her eyes opened.

"Sephiroth."

She sat up, finding her footing on the bottom of the pool. For a sinking moment, she thought he was gone, that he had fled in a fit of self-loathing, but when she turned around, she saw him.

He was half-dressed: wearing pants and boots and gloves, and he sat on a rock, silver head bowed over tight-clasped hands. He was so still that he looked to be carved of one piece with the stone he sat on, all but his black-sheathed hands, which trembled. She could not see his face, only his forehead and the tip of his nose, but his hands were weeping.

He was on land, the moss around him blackened by his flames. She stood in the water, surrounded by the magic of her people-- who had died at his mother's command. The distance between them had never seemed greater.

He had done the unforgivable, scarred her in every way possible. Her body would probably heal, but her heart . . . She saw his face above her again, lips curled, eyes narrow green slits.

_I hate you. You make me weak._

She shuddered.

She had known how violent he was capable of being. Now she knew, not just as an idea but as an actual fact, that even his feelings for her could not prevent him from hurting her. She could almost hear Elmyra screaming at her for still being in the room with him, and see her birth mother's worried frown. Even _he_ thought she was a fool.

Was he truly what he believed himself to be-- a monster? If she stayed, would they be trapped in an endless cycle of brutality and apologies? Apologies that grew steadily less sincere, until they ate away his soul as surely as his rages did . . . What would that mean for her? For her children?

Was she only lying to herself, the way so many slum-girls did, promising themselves the eternal "he'll change?" The thought made her chest ache, but she had to consider it. She had known too many women who spent their days trying to fit an idealistic mold-- only to be beaten at night. He could have been such a fine man, in some other world. But here . . . was the good in him buried too deep? Was it her own pride that made her think her love could call him back from his bloodthirsty hell?

She still believed he had a choice. But conscious will makes up so little of a person: his subconscious desires, his buried memories, his dreams-- they all worked against her. No matter how diligent he was, he could not always protect her from his darker nature.

She looked at him-- this beautiful man whom she loved more than her own life, his pale, muscular body silent and tense. And she knew that she might lose him. And-- worse-- that the loss might be for the best. His hair changed to a silver blur as two salty drops joined the pool.

_I love you, my angel with one wing._

"Are you alright?"

His voice was so low it barely carried over the water, but she knew he had spoken because the tremble in his hands steadied. His tears were in his words now.

Aeris ran a wet hand over her face, and discovered no swelling, and her teeth all in place. Or in place again.

"Not too bad," she said, "A little sore."

"You should heal yourself. I've used up all my power, so I'm not dangerous right now."

"How long was I out?"

"Most of the day. It's late afternoon now."

His words were hollow and soft and slow, little empty sounds that dropped into the yawing silence between them.

This was a pivotal moment, and she could not think of how to say what needed to be said. The important things were all getting buried under a layer of shallow pleasantries.

"I should go," he said.

* * *

She did not answer, as he had hoped she would not, but somehow, her silence stung all the same, and the pain was so sharp he could taste it.

He had lost her.

At long last, she understood.

She knew what he was capable of, and why his feelings for her made him hide from her. But her love had been so innocent, so pure, and her trust so contagious, that for a few hours, he had honestly thought--

At least she was still alive.

"You see now, don't you? Why I can't-- be with you. I didn't want--"

_Oh, but you _did _want to hurt her._

In the moment, he had wanted it badly, and even now, the memory of _mastery _sent a little titillating jolt through him. He cut the thought off.

"Aeris, if someone had offered me the _world _to do what I just did, _I would not have done it. _Can you believe me?"

"I can."

There was a relief, anyway. He had thought about lying to her again, trying to convince her that all he had wanted was to use her that way, but lies had not worked last time, and he did not _want_ to lie to her. Besides, the truth should be enough, now.

He heard her rising out of the water, but did not look up, not wanting to see what he had lost.

As if reading his thoughts, Aeris did not approach him. She only went over to where he had laid her clothes out in the light, and shrugged into the sun-stiffened dress.

"Aeris, I-- would like it very much if you could find it in yourself not to hate these hours. To me, they were--" How could he describe them? For a few hours, he had held everything he wanted, had held life itself.

For a few hours, he had let himself forget how grave a sin it is for an angel to dream.

Would she despise him now? Would she wash herself when she thought of his skin on hers?

"Aeris, when I saw you, when I touched you, I truly thought I could-- love something without hurting it . . . I knew better, of _course _I knew, but I--"

"Sephiroth," her voice was clear and steady, "Do you love me?"


	55. Where Angels Fear to Tread: Part One

Disclaimer: None of these characters were originally my idea.� They and their world belong to Square Enix.

Author's Note: If you are inclined to re-read, you should see that this chapter actually _has _been in the back of Aeris' mind since the resurrection.

* * *

"Sephiroth, do you love me?"

He was silent so long that she began to doubt if he would reply, and when he finally spoke, his answer was little more than a whisper. 

" . . . I don't know. It hardly matters now." 

"It matters to me," she said.

"The evidence says--" his answer came haltingly, and she cut him off. 

"Your heart is your evidence. Do you?"

"Then . . . yes." His voice was low. "I . . ."

He stopped. 

She understood. 

He couldn't say it. He couldn't say it because he felt he didn't deserve to say it. She decided that was a good sign, because it meant his remorse was real.

"What was your nightmare?" she asked.

_What could you have seen that drove you away from me so quickly and so completely?_

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Seph, really." 

He flinched at the sound of the nickname, and cringed even more when she moved to put her hand on his arm. She let her hand drop, not wanting to push him, even though it hurt her not to touch him as much as it hurt him to be touched. "Tell me." 

Again he hesitated a long moment, then sighed an I-owe-you-that-much sigh.

"It was something about me being unfaithful to you, right?" she prodded.

"Yes."

"Something that made you think all this--" she waved her hand at the glittering cave around them, "wasn't real?"

"Yes."

"Something about me and Vincent?"

"No." He still spoke to his gloved hands. "You and-- Hojo."

He half-smiled at her startled squawk of revulsion, but it was only half a smile. "I know," he said, "I'm sorry.It just all made such sense to me. When I was a boy, I could only trust Shinra, then there was only Mother, and now there's only you. But it all leads back to where I started. Maybe all this is just an elaborate illusion in the training facilities. I'll die strapped to an operating table, with the same scalpels cutting through my skin, and there's nothing I can do, noth--"

"Seph, don't talk like that--"

"He made me watch you with him. Made me see how much you liked it. How you washed yourself after touching me. Let you do the honors for some of the more painful--"

She reached for him without thinking and he pulled away.

"_Don't!_" There was a panicky edge to his voice as he shrank from her. 

"Sephiroth, honey, please." 

He rose to avoid her, and his hands were up, as if she was about to strike him, but he was finally looking at her. She blushed for a moment, because she hadn't bothered to button the dress, only pulled it over her shoulders like a robe, but his eyes were on her face. Whatever he saw there made his expression soften, and his half-smile twisted up at her sadly. "Then you still don't hate me?"

"I'll never hate you." 

"Thank you." He nodded to himself as he straightened, and turned away from her. Aeris noticed his things tied in a bundle by the entrance.

"You don't believe me," she said.

"No. You'll hate me once you find someone better for you. Then you'll see how much I didn't deserve any of this."

His back was to her, and she saw how deep his pain ran. Gone was his proud, military stance. He looked smaller.

Defeated.

"But thank you," he added. "Yours were the sweetest lies anyone ever told me." 

_What did I ever tell you, but that I loved you and that we could make a life together?_

She heard again the sound of shouting through paper-thin walls, plates shattering, the thudding of a woman tumbling down a flight of stairs.

_I raised you for something _better_ than this. _Elmyra's voice was angry.

_Can't you see he isn't like them?_

_Whether he is or not, life with him would look very similar-- for you._

_. . . And do not forget who he belongs to. _The second voice sliced into her mind, slippery and cold as the frozen North.

Aeris clenched her teeth stubbornly.

_He is not who you think he is, Mother._

Once more, just once more, she would try to reach him-- tell him _everything _this time, regardless of the risks. Then, if he still felt he needed to work things through alone . . . she would not stop him.

He was free to choose isolation and darkness, even though-- she realized with a sinking heart-- it meant Heaven's Dark Harbinger would surely own him. Her grip on his regenerated body was stronger than it ever had been, and she had already succeeded in tempting him to do what he had never imagined himself capable of. Before, even at his angriest, he had not-- done _that_. Sephiroth might think he was protecting her by leaving, but it was only a matter of time before Jenova seeded his mind with dreams of destruction. 

And then-- oh gods-- Aeris herself would have to fight him. Perhaps even kill him.

He was gathering what little he owned, not quickly, but with an air of sad finality.

"Sephiroth, stay." She started after him, and caught him by the hand. "I never lied to you." 

He stood rooted to the spot, trapped by the light pressure of her hands. But his eyes were closed, and his face contorted as if he were being burned. "Don't tease me. Please. You don't need to pretend you still want me: I'm not dangerous right now," he said again, keeping his face turned away from her. "What I've done . . . I know it changes everything. I know-- I hurt you."

"You raped me."

There. She said it. 

He flinched at the word, which seemed to echo, thickening the air. He did not pull away but she felt his soul recoiling, his flesh going tense beneath his skin.

All he said was, "Yes."

"Sephiroth, I myself have told women to leave the men they loved for far less than what happened here today." The silence strained between them. "But I am not those women. And you are not those men." She slid a hand up the black leather glove, so that her fingertips touched his bare forearm. He pulled back, but she kept her hold on him. "I still need to talk to you."

He stared at the floor, half-turned with his back toward her. "Go ahead."

"Could you sit?"

Reluctantly, he let her lead him back to his rock. "Try to be quick, if you can. I can't fly now, and I want to put some distance between us before nightfall. It's always been worse at night."

He sat, though, and she sat down beside him, outside the ring he had made less than a day before, with the water lapping at her feet.

"Sephiroth, there's something I haven't told you." She drew a breath before continuing. "I've wanted to tell you, but it wasn't the right time. It's about those months when you were gone. Vincent and I went to Nibelheim together--"

"You don't have to tell me," he interrupted. Too quickly, in a voice that said, 'I don't want to know.'

Aeris stopped, confused. "What?"

He got to his feet, breaking free of her grasp. "You don't need my forgiveness, and you don't need my blessing. I would just as soon not think about--"

"Sephiroth, stop it. I told you already: Vincent is a friend. Nothing more." She grasped his hand again and made him sit back down. "The only thing I learned about him in all the months we were together is that he's terrible company to have when you're depressed-- Well, that and he can't stand being interrupted when he's listening to folk music. He's not what I wanted to talk about." She waited for him to nod before continuing. "It's about the reports on you. The Jenova project files, Hojo's data files and video recordings-- everything in the Shinra basement . . . I burned them."

"You-- burned them," he echoed. He stared fixedly at a point on the wall, but his tone of voice indicated that he found this confession anticlimactic.

"I'm sorry. I wouldn't have, if I'd known you were coming back. They were yours to keep or to destroy. But I thought you were dead-- you_ were _dead--and--"

"It's fine. I'm glad they're gone." What she could see of his pale face was unreadable and remote, and his black-gloved hand lay still between her own. "Is that all?"

"No. Before I burned them . . . I read them."


	56. Where Angels Fear to Tread: Part Two

Disclaimer: Square Enix still owns all their intellectual property, which I am not trying to infringe upon.

* * *

"No. Before I burned them . . . I read them. And I watched the videos. I saw everything they made you see, and your reactions while you were seeing them."

He did not answer at first, but a muscle in his temple worked as he clenched his teeth and his breathing went shallow.

He gave an abrupt, unconvincing laugh.

"Did you sleep? I must have one of the most recorded childhoods in history."

The corners of Aeris' mouth tugged upward, but she had to tell him everything. "Not much. I needed to know who I'd lost, and why you thought you had to leave me that way."

"I see."

She wondered how much she should say about those black days. She had nearly gone insane herself-- alone in the dusty basements, watching the man she loved scream and shiver and beg, until all his normal, human emotions gave way to a cold, steady hatred. She thought again of the boy who sat sweating with terror, staring at unthinkable evil, then of the gangly adolescent, head resting on his fist, looking bored and annoyed. Once, he devoured an entire steak dinner while holographic schoolchildren were being eviscerated all around him. Vincent had forced food and sleep on her, then finally dragged her out bodily. The fire had been her idea, but he helped feed the flames.

"Those months were terrible for me; I don't know if I can describe them. Even I tried to block out what I was seeing. But I learned about you, and about the experiments they did on your mind."

"I already told you--"

"It's worse than you think. I know you read most of the files five years ago, but there was one I think you missed: Vincent had it with his data. When you were three, Hojo tried to prove his superiority by using your body to house Chaos. He almost killed you, but he discovered that you could survive incredible torture by repressing the memories, much in the way that Vincent buries his other forms. After that, there was a method to the worst experiments. Part of Hojo's research was designed to produce a-- 'trauma-enduced hypnosis' they called it, so Shinra would have a fighter superior to any the world had ever seen, and who was physically incapable of disobeying them. Much of what was done to you was _designed _to be forgotten. Only the lesson you learned would remain, while the memory itself became a latent trigger, which, if you were reminded, could produce a predictable response in you. What so nearly drove you insane five years ago, was facing all of those triggers at once."

A fine sheen of sweat had broken out across his forehead. He sat still, but his breathing was quicker than ever and his gloved hand started to tremble.

"Why are you telling me this?" he whispered.

She thought of Vincent's words to her, when she sat by the bonfire of Shinra files, wishing that Sephiroth could have known what she found.

"It is far better that he never knew, Aeris," Vincent had said. "Such knowledge would have only made him doubt himself more, and it would have been both painful dangerous for him to face what they buried inside him. I, of all people, know that."

But here she was, stripping away the one mercy his tortured mind had afforded him-- the ability to forget.

"I didn't want to tell you," she said. "I certainly didn't want to tell you right away. I wanted you to have time with me first, to have proof that my love for you is something real and lasting, and we could both know that I was _your _choice. But now, now when the dark has woken in you, I _cannot_ let you go without knowing the truth."

If he could trust her, there might still be hope, but she felt absurd, coming against a lifetime of hatred and loneliness armed only with her love for him. She also knew that she had to choice but to try.

"Sephiroth, are you alright?"

He did not look well. His white face had gone splotchy, and the sweat on his forehead beaded and ran. He kept his face turned away from her, but the light from his glowing eyes roved, fixed on nothing, as if he were reading.

"Sephiroth, do you remember Gaila Tarigashi?"

"_No!_" He leaped to his feet, barking the word as if he were trying to stop the memory, not answering her question. He swung away from her, and one of his hands went to his temple as he clutched a fistful of silver-white hair.

"She was the first for you, right? And you-- couldn't-- because you knew they were watching. She was one of the Wutain rebels Shinra caught, and she was your friend for a few months."

"Stop . . . Stop it." He shook his head, white hair spilling between gloved fingers.

"You made her suffer for your shame. I saw the photos."

"It isn't true . . ."

"It_ is _true, Sephiroth. You remember the report, at least. The experiment was labelled 'successful' because they thought it proved you had no sex drive, only bloodlust. They wanted a link between sex and violence in your mind, so you would find an almost sexual thrill from butchery."

"_Why are you doing this?_" His head snapped to the side, shrieking at her over his shoulder.

"Why am I tripping the trigger designed to make you sexually violent? Because I want you to know what I mean when I say: I still love you. When I saw what was left of Gaila, that was when I knew that loving you could cost me my life. And now you've hurt me. You even frightened me, when I thought I could never fear you again. But you didn't shock me. You said this changes things, and I'm glad it does-- for you. But it doesn't for me. I _knew _what could happen." As she spoke, she got to her feet and stepped closer until she stood facing him, half-reaching for him. "Sephiroth, I _knew_. I knew and I _came_. And I'm _still here_."

His whole body went so still that he looked as if he had been preserved in ice-- only a whisper of breeze stirring his hair showed that time had not stopped around him. Knuckle by knuckle, the hand grasping the side of his head loosened its grip.

More slowly still, he lifted his face to hers.

For a long moment, he just stared at her, glowing eyes wide, the expression of disbelief on his face so complete it bordered on horror.

Something cold and angry brushed the edges of Aeris' mind.

_I have not forgotten who he belongs to, Dark Harbinger. He belongs to _me. _He gave himself to me long ago, when he kissed me while his palace burned, when he kissed me outside Midgar. _

_I am the last of the Cetra. _

_And this is the man I love._

"You still have a choice," she said, "I still believe in you. Now, will you love me?"

Not a single muscle of his face moved, but his mako-bright eyes brimmed and a tear traced a shimmering line down the side of his face.

Then his incredulity crumpled, and he sank to the floor in front of her, and she wrapped him in her arms: her boy-soldier, her soldier who was never a boy.

* * *

Why did the ancients so treasure this Tao?  
Is it not because it has been said of it:  
'Whosoever asks will receive;  
Whosoever has sinned will be forgiven'?  
Therefore is Tao the most exquisite thing on earth.

--Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching 62


	57. The Senseless War

Disclaimer: Square Enix should receive full credit for the entirety of the FFVII universe.

* * *

She stroked the broad, white back, running soothing hands over his corded muscles, loving the weight of him in her arms. His hands gripped the hem of her dress as if salvation lay in the fabric, and he was gasping as he wept.

Light glittered off the walls, and the rainbows they cast caught in his hair, sending color dancing through the shimmering white. _Gods_, he was so, so _beautiful _like this, in this rare and precious moment when he let himself take what she gave, let her finger the pain behind the general's facade. She smiled into the silver silk, closing her eyes and breathing in the scent of leather and darkness and mako-bright tears.

"Aeris-- please-- I didn't want to! I didn't _want _to!" His voice came thin and high-- like metal screaming against metal. "I didn't _want _to!"

She did not know if he was talking about hurting her, or Gaila, or the whole of his life, but it didn't matter, because her answer was the same: "I know you didn't. It'll be alright."

_We'll make something new, you and I. Gods know it won't be easy, but we _will_._

"I don't understand! Why are you--?"

"Sssh, you will. Just give it time."

"But I don't do _any_thing for you. I'm not _useful_ to you!"

"Sweetheart, I never _wanted_ to _use_ you--"

"Then what _do_ you want? Aeris, _tell_ me what you want from me! I'll do anything, _anything_ you ask-- just don't take this away!" As he pulled back to look at her, his leather gloves squeezed the pink cloth of her dress so tightly his hands shook.

She heard the edge of desperation in his words, and the unspoken question: _What must I do to make you keep loving me?_ It saddened her, for she detected a subtle trap: he was trying to make her fit into a familiar framework, and the closest thing to love he recognized was a sellsword's wages. It would be a kind of relief to him to know that he was part of a power play, to know that she wanted him for her own devices. Her love, unearned and inescapable, terrified him, because it was completely beyond his control, and if it came without cause it might leave the same way.

_Just because your heart was thrown away, my love, doesn't make it worthless. Hold me now and dare to believe I won't be taken away from you. _

She took his face in both her hands, making him look at her eyes as she answered. "I want you to let yourself love me. That's all I have ever asked of you." She searched his eyes.

He shook his head in confusion.

"I don't understand. I don't deserve this. I'm a virus; I'm a monster. I'm not even human--"

"No, no, honey, no." She smoothed his glistening bangs to keep them from sticking to his cheeks. "You deserve it, you _do_. I know everything you've done, and everything that was done to you, and I tell you: it only made me love you more."

_Oh, why can't you see? Everyone deserves some taste of love, but you more than anyone ever has. I would sell my soul and body if it meant I could make this life just a little easier for you, and count the loss an honor._

"Please, sweetheart," she added, "Please, stop trying to buy what's already been given to you."

"What _are_ you giving me, Aeris? I don't under--"

"My heart, my love-- my life. In every way, if necessary."

He stared at her for a moment longer, then leaned against her heavily, and she felt him try to believe her, the strain going out of his shoulders, his hands unhooking from her dress. His black gloves were cool and smooth where they touched her calf, his tears hot against her shoulder: water from the fire lord. His breath still hissed as he wept through clenched teeth.

"I tried so hard to forget." He was whispering now, tears taking the sound from his voice. "I never would have told you, because I always tried to forget . . . Gaila . . . She had such a lovely neck . . ." Without warning, he gave a little shrieking sob and his arms snaked around her, grasping her tight, "Oh gods, please don't hate me! Don't hate me! I didn't kill her like that, I swear I didn't! She died quickly, I promise you! Aeris, believe me, _please_! They took the photos afterward-- she didn't feel any of it!" He broke off, and added bitterly, "Not that it _matters._"

"I believe you, Seph."

"What's wrong with me?" He hid his face in her dress. "What's wrong with me that I would let them _do_ that to me?"

"Seph, honey, it wasn't your fault--"

"It _was_ my fault-- all of it!" he cried, sitting up, "There's always been something wrong with me! I was strong enough then, I could have refused! No one could have stopped me!"

"My love, _what_ could you have done? You were four years old when they started training you, and the experiments started before you were even born. _None _of it was your fault!"

"I could have--" he broke off, "I could have done _some_thing." He pulled away a little, half-turning. He was crying the way a child cries, rubbing his fist against his eye.

It was not reason speaking now, so she stopped asking questions of his mind, and spoke instead to his heart.

"Oh sweetheart, did you love her? You can tell me: I don't get jealous easily."

He shook his head, closing his eyes against the memory of pain, and she reached out to him and pulled his head against her breast.

"I don't know," he answered. "Maybe. By then, I knew better than to get attached. It was never-- like with you, but she was one of the first girls my age I'd met, and afterward I never wanted to touch any woman again. And I didn't-- not until Wutai."

"Lady Kisagari. Shinra wanted to make an example of her."

"She had information we needed, and Shinra wanted to send a message to Godo. Privately." He clenched his fist again. "She _wouldn't scream_. She was nearly eight months pregnant and she _wouldn't scream_, no matter what I did. I might have been easier on her, if she had, but I was so--_ jealous_!"

_I think you loved her for her silence, too. A little, anyway. That was why you gave her what she cherished most-- not her own life, but her baby's._

"She broke at the end," he said. "After five days without food or sleep, I cut her open. Just a careless impulse, really, but it finally got to her. She begged to see the baby, to hold her-- just once. Procedure said I was supposed to get a doctor to sew her up so I could keep at her; trample the child on the floor in front of her, limb by limb, until she talked. But I let her hold her daughter. I was always glad I did that . . . She said she'd tell me everything, if only I would swear that the girl would stay with her father, and grow to be a woman free to travel the world, and fight battles bards would sing about, and that she would steal men's hearts-- she had dealt with Shinra too often not to make me promise all that. So I took her oath and she told me everything. Locations. Names. Timelines for their offensives. That was how we won the war."

Aeris had not known that much.

She had only seen the grainy, Shinra-made video of Sephiroth emerging from Lady Kisagari's rooms, hours after the room had gone ominously quiet.

Bloody spray dotted his blank face, his black gloves hung from his fingers-- dark and wet-- and a sticky infant lay in the crook of his arm. He was holding a little yellow sphere up to her mouth to quiet her, pinching it for the baby to grip and suck.

Godo, much thinner than Aeris remembered, saw Sephiroth coming, and the knowledge of what had happened in Shinra's makeshift torture chamber spread across his face. He started to scream profanities, and two SOLDIERs held him down to keep him from lunging at the General.

Sephiroth thrust the child in Godo's direction, holding the baby awkwardly, not supporting her head. "She'll always be short," he said, as if pronouncing an indictment.

Godo spat at him. "Keep her yourself! What would I want with her? If not for _that child_ Marinishima would be safe in the hills. _She _killed her as much as--"

"_She did no such thing_," Sephiroth snapped, his sudden venom startling even his SOLDIERs. Composing himself, he added, "She's the last of your Marinishima, who requested that she be raised in your care, but if you don't want her, I'll just--" He drew his arm back, preparing to pitch the infant head-first into the wall.

"No!" Godo screamed.

The baby had started squalling, and Sephiroth's pale face broke into a triumphant smirk.

"There's no need to suspect a gift just because it comes from Shinra," he said. "You'll be getting a lot of gifts from us-- once this war is done." He nodded to the two SOLDIERs, and they released Godo long enough for him to take the howling newborn.

When she watched the film, Aeris had thought it odd that Sephiroth, directly after calling Godo's bluff, demanded a computerized legal certificate for the child and a public announcement of her birth. Godo refused to fill out the Shinra-stamped forms, apparently clinging to his pride or to the Wutain tradition of naming in the sixth month, but Sephiroth only lifted a plated shoulder in dismissive annoyance, and filled the birth certificate out himself.

Now she knew why.

He was making sure that if Shinra wanted to kill Yuffie, they could not do so quietly. An official document and a press release stated that she had lived. Sephiroth was trying to keep his oath-- that the child would travel the world, and do great things, and steal men's hearts.

The Great General hesitated only a moment before filling out the blank for her name-- without consulting Lord Godo. In his own neat, sweeping hand, Sephiroth christened her 'Yuffrinali.'

The Wutaian word for 'theif.'


	58. Hope

Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer about not working for/owning any Square Enix intellectual property.

Author's Note: Late! Late! Sorry, sorry, sorry for the unprecedented wait. There have been several delaying factors: (insert lame excuse here.) Alas, I have been working on other things, living in a hotel for the last two months, and I also smashed my laptop. Agh. Returning home tomorrow-- where I will be packing for another move.

Thanks to all of you who told me you love this story. I would not be finishing this without you. It would seem that endings are freaking hard for me.

* * *

"Marinishima was strong, admirable woman by all accounts," Aeris said, "Full of laughter and life. Just like her daughter. I guessed you must have had some feelings for her-- tangled up with guilt, but real feelings all the same-- because afterward, there were a lot of women. Like you were trying to forget something."

Since returning from the war, he had never been without a mistress or two. Not that there had been any shortage of women plying Shinra's general with offers of companionship.

"I've _always_ been trying to forget. Aeris . . . the things I've done--"

"Ssh. We'll start over." Her fingers brushed his face.

"How can you still want--"

"I love you."

"You're _insane_," he muttered, but he did not resist when she pulled him closer, resting his face on her shoulder.

"Love is the only true sanity."

* * *

Her kisses were light, little sparks touching his tears.

Fire and water.

She stirred something inside him, something sharp and clean and triumphant as new steel.

_Is this what hope feels like?_

"I don't deserve this," he said, but held still in her arms.

"Hush now. Love belongs to every soul, but it's always humbling when it comes. A paradox-- like the two of us." When she touched his bare chest, his heart sang with a feeling soft as gossamer, fierce as fire. "Everyone's privilege, and no one's right. Always impossible. And always real."

_No one could deserve this_, he thought, as her body angled against his, shifting to push him backward into the blue-white flowers.

"Just tell me you love me," she murmured, spreading his hair out around his face so that it ran in silvery rivulets between the blossoms.

"How could I _not _love you?" She was so small, so delicate, her ribs fit between his fingers as he held her. "You are the only light I've seen, the only warmth to touch me-- Aeris. My soul."

Her smile was a flash of white in the dazzling cave, and her eyes sparkled-- the two brightest gemstones in the cavern.

"Show me your wing," she whispered.

His answering smile faded from his lips. "Aeris, I--"

He didn't know how to explain, but it always seemed he was more violent, less human, whenever that black shadow spread from his back.

"Sephiroth, it's part of you, too. I know what you're thinking, but I don't _want _only the best of you. Wanting only the best of you isn't wanting you at all." She bent closer, so that her lips were nearly against his, so close he could almost taste them. "Give me all of you."

Her mouth was full and sweetly soft: absolution and spring wine.

_Gods . . ._

The soft weight of her pressed down on him, her scent sending his mind into a slow spin. Her kiss reached inside him, sending little fissures running through the deepest parts of him, stretching his darkness-- changing it into an instrument of flight. He swept the silky feathers over her, so that the light filtered down between the shadowy fingers and shaded her soft face.

Was it her hunger or his that kept the kiss from ending?

He did not know, but he returned it kisses madly, feverishly, rolling her under him to better devour pure pink lips. She lay beneath his body, arching up for him and running a hand through glossy ink-black feathers. His shaking fingers fumbled with the fastenings to his pants, but he could not bear to break the kiss, not even for a moment.

Then he was free, and Aeris was shrugging out of her dress, grasping him and rolling with him. He did not so much as pause, even when she rolled too far and sent them tumbling into the pool. He made the water catch them, their bodies barely breaking the surface, becoming a yielding, sloshing surface for their joining. Still he kissed her, feeling her hands grasp his hips, tugging his pants lower. He buried his fingers in her hair, wet from the water beneath them.

_Aeris, I want-- I need--_

…_Let me._

* * *

For a moment, she felt him give in to unrestrained hunger, pressing her down hard into the water with his black wing spreading over them.

"_No!_"

His scream echoed in the cavern as he flung himself off her and Aeris was underwater with a sudden, strange view of his boot soles, orange light flickering above the water's surface. A black-gloved hand plunged in, caught and lifted her, and she saw what had panicked him.

Flames swept the surface of the water, everywhere but where he stood, and a shadow blotted out the sun. This morning, Jenova had unlocked a power inside him-- a power that could not be set to rest again. Fire and darkness lay just beneath the thin veneer of his restraint.

Aeris felt her head throbbing at the sudden shift in air pressure and she reached up to give a quick, green-white massage to her head, but the pain dissolved before her fingers reached her pulsing temples.

_It's true, then. I _wasn't _a fool to come here. _

He was not the only one changed by death. The power she had hardly dared to hope for was hers.

"I'm sorry!" he was saying, "I'm sorry, Aeris. I want to-- _gods_, I want to, it's the only thing I do _right_ for you, but I--"

"It's alright, I understand," she said.

"If I hurt you again--"

He did not seem to know how to finish the sentence. He was panting, taut as a bowstring, clutching her against him.

"Ssh, it's ok. Just hold me."

They stood together on the water, or rather, he stood and she stood on his boots, and Aeris closed her eyes and willed the mist from the waterfall to come extinguish the fire. As the flames died down around them, Sephiroth guided them to the edge of the pool and sat down heavily on the rim. He would have let her go then, but Aeris curled tight into his hard, pale arms and sat on his lap as he let his legs dangle in the water.

She wanted to reassure him, to tell him that he was the sun in her sky, that she would wait forever and a day for him to master gentleness, but his shame was a man's shame now, and she was not sure that he would believe her reassurance. Still, she had to say _something_.

"It's enough for me, Sephiroth, enough and more than enough just to be near you."

"I don't _want _it to be enough."

"I'm saying-- don't pull away from me-- I'm saying I want you to love me. Love me and everything will be alright."

She squeezed his arm to hearten him and he flinched. Aeris froze, realizing what she had just done. She had pressed hard on the single most painful part of his body: the scar running up the inside of his elbow. With the dream, and Jenova beating his brain, it had probably been hurting him badly all day-- and she knew he had not spared a single spell to ease the pain.

"Aeris, you know, don't you, that I would rather have died a thousand times than-- than--"

"I know. But I know something that you don't: you _can't _hurt me again. I'm stronger than you are now."

He blinked.

"My mother told me once that a human who tastes death and lives will be vastly powerful, able to master magic easily and summon incredible allies. A Cetra who tastes death and lives, melds with the Planet's essence and becomes a true prophet-- able to hear the Planet clearly and do its bidding. You are not only human, so I think you can summon destruction from even beyond the stars. I am not only Cetra, so I think I can channel her will. Perhaps even summon it."

She touched him again, carefully, apologetically, tracing the raised flesh. The line of puncture wounds that separated them. When she drew away from him, greenish magic glittered along his single scar, whispering softly like sea spray and misting rain. Sephiroth's slit-pupilled eyes widened, their green glow reflecting the radiance of the healing magic.

"You see? I am your equal now, my only. I am water when you burn."

* * *

He stared at the restored tissue, running a finger over where the scar used to be in disbelief. For as long as he could remember, the pain in his swordarm rarely subsided and _never _quieted completely. Without the stinging twinge, he almost failed to recognize the arm as his own and he had the sudden, absurdly childish notion that now it would be harder to swing Masamune. When he raised his head to gawk at her, she pressed her mouth to his, and his lips-- ice white and hot as blood, shaped to snarl curses and commands-- shuddered and yielded beneath her kiss.

It was too soon, much too soon, he knew. She had _died_ for the sake of all the gods, and he-- he was wrung out and bone weary after facing what he meant never to face.

It was simply too damn soon.

And not nearly soon enough.


	59. Rain

Disclaimer: Still not associated with Square Enix. This is my hobby, not for profit.

Note: May you Aerisephers never watch AC quite the same way again.

* * *

When he filled her, they had already lost all sense of where one ended and the other began. They were not two bodies anymore, but a mad tumble of limbs and emotions, hard and soft, male and female. Her tongue was in his mouth, and he was sometimes above, sometimes beneath her, but they kept no position long, flickering and flowing, laughing at the pangs in their sore places, weeping with delight.

Earth and water, sky and stars, answered their gasping cries. Above them, the vault of heaven reeled with tainted, twisting ash-- ash that reached down for them in a black, clawing vortex. Below, the pool surged up in an arcing fountain of crystal and light. When she cried out for him, her power answered his, and dark dust grasped brilliant water like two hands clasping-- one gloved in black, the other clear as sunlight. Ashy swirl touched water with a tinkling sound like distant chimes, like rain sighing onto flames, and orbs of mako-green power rushed skyward-- a flight of firefly comets streaking up into black soot.

He dissolved into clear water, the scent of flowers, and healing light; she into feathers and black mist. The sky wept. The water laughed. Their mingled power rained down gently at first: a few pattering drops dotting her face with shining beads. Then the heavens opened, drenching them both with a thousand tiny caresses.

And as her Sephiroth gave a gasping cry of exultation, a sudden mental image surged to the forefront of her mind. She saw the cavern as it had been when it was first constructed, saw the priestesses in their flowing robes tending healing herbs and rosebud trees. They chanted in the language of the Ancients as they worked, but Aeris, amazingly, could understand them, and when she turned, the unfamiliar glyphs on the walls made sense.

The Cetra hymns had been prayers, pleading with the Planet for the fallen souls lost to Jenova's madness, pleading with their brothers and sisters to return. As the centuries passed, their numbers dwindled, and the little chapel fell into disuse and ruin, all the lilting prayers unanswered.

Until today.

The worn words etched above the doorway were simple: Commemorating the Victory of Our People Over Heaven's Dark Harbinger.

* * *

The rain swept down in sheets, glorious in its ferocity, driving silver knives into earth and stone. The dry ground around Bone Village darkened to a rich brown, turning gullies and canyons turning to sucking mud. And yet the birds did not stop their singing, and desert creatures came out of their burrows to frolic in a downpour that held no terrors. In the village, the undemonstrative, practical townspeople froze mid-motion as the rain caught them, and turned to stare at one another in wonder and awe. One by one, picks and shovels fell to the ground. No one sought shelter, and the few people in their tents and hovels stepped outside, turning their faces to the wet sky. Even the parched fossils that lay exposed around the town seemed almost alive in the magic-laden wind and rain.

Someone laughed. Others joined in, and soon the whole village rang with the sound. One woman flung her arms wide and spun around in a dance of dizzy delight, whooping with joy. A few others followed suit, but most simply raised their arms heavenward as if they could embrace the rain, as if it were sunlight after far too long a night.

* * *

The storm swept out to sea, gaining strength and speed, and by the time it struck Midgar it was a shrieking gale. But no one ran for shelter, or even opened an umbrella. Most of Midgar's throngs stayed where they stood, their errands forgotten, coming out of cars and shops, throwing windows open, straining for the sky. Children danced with old men and women in the street, lovers and friends and strangers embraced, laughing until they cried or crying until they laughed. No disaster had been averted, and no threat loomed over them, but every phone in the city rang that day as parents and children, siblings, friends, old sweethearts and new, called one another to stammer out the words: "I love you."

At first, no one noticed the flowers pushing up from between the cracks in the sidewalk, but soon there were too many to ignore, white and yellow lilies bursting from every crack and crevice in the capital.

* * *

Cid, steadily sousing himself in a slum bar, looked out the window at the sudden rain and when he turned back to his drink, it seemed less inviting to him. He rubbed his ring finger thoughtfully, and all his thoughts turned to the one who might still be waiting for him. Some of the other patrons had already been drawn out into the thundershower, and he realized that was just what he needed, too. A brisk walk in the rain to clear his head-- then he would call, attempt the dizzying feat of trying to explain how he felt. And, strangely, he knew he really would this time.

* * *

Yuffie and Reeve were in the gardens, arguing bitterly over who was responsible for the disappearance of a series of electrical recon units. But their anger cooled with each raindrop, and suddenly, the situation seemed unaccountably funny. Reeve broke into a sheepish grin first, and kicked his stuffed moogle to reveal a stack of units hidden inside. Yuffie chuckled tightly, a nervous smile flickering on her face, then unwound her headband to let the units' processing chips fall free.

* * *

Barrett had gotten news of a cache of oil and minerals that day, and so was outside the city traveling north when the storm hit. Within seconds, he was soaked through-- and letting his motorcycle grind to a halt in the middle of the muddy road.

"The hell am I doin'?" he muttered under his breath. "This can wait."

He swung the bike around, speeding back in the direction he had come. He ought to be at home. Marlene was growing up too fast as it was, and besides-- it was raining.

* * *

Cloud stood by the open window, watching the rain slash the city. A mako-green fork of lightning splintered the sky, leaving a glowing afterimage as thunder cracked the clouds.

Tifa burst in a moment later, drenched to the skin, eyes bright.

"Is it _her_?" she asked.

"And him."

"This rain-- it's a good rain. It cuts you to the quick, but it brings _hope_."

"Then I think . . . everything's going to be okay." Cloud turned to her, taking in the sight of her short hair clinging in damp strings to her skull, her wide eyes beautiful in their brilliance. "Everything's going to be okay," he said again and this time, he flashed one of his rare, slightly crooked smiles, and his shoulders relaxed. "You know, Tif, it's been too long since we've done something romantic."

"Really?"

He knew it had, of course.

All he could think of, though, bungling clod that he was, was thumbing through their Costa del Sol album together, and showing her the photos on his picturephone. His memory chip was all but exhausted with a vast array of pictures of her: walking, chatting, working out. He knew that none of them were particularly artistic, so maybe it was just the rain getting to her, but when she saw them, she threw her arms around him and kissed him hard-- the way she almost never dared to.

* * *

All across Gaia, the storm remained fierce, as if the gods of water and air were warring in the sky. It struck Wutai with nearly the same force that it had Midgar: a cleansing deluge on a land that still remembered the bitter taste of blood and tears and defeat. Here, too, yellow and white lilies sprang up over the rusted hulks of broken vehicles and chocobo bones.

Lord Godo awoke from his sodden sleep, and, drawn by the power in the rain, he stumbled out into his gardens. His head cleared instantly, and he felt the old, defiant fire burning in him again.

_Blessing of the gods! _he thought, and whispered, "Leviathan sings."

* * *

The Forbidden Forest did not invite rain: it had its own, darker waters that it preferred to drink from. But still, eventually, the water began pattering down through the leaves.

Nanaki stirred in his sleep, paws twitching as if he dreamed of running across the barren hills. He growled, muttering something about keeping the young ones close together, and Vincent inclined his head at him impatiently. He sat still, his back leaning against a tree's glowing bark, claw resting on one raised knee, but he was restless, his frustration bordering on frenzy. Aeris was obviously still in danger, and they were hopelessly lost and losing still more time because Nanaki needed rest, and Vincent knew he would only lose two friends if he pushed harder.

But then a single drop found its way through the foliage, and splashed onto the corner of his eye.

More drops followed, singing on his gold claw, and whispering on his face so softly it felt more like little kisses than rain. And his heart flooded with a deep, unfamiliar sense of well-being. Almost, he could imagine that the drops were petals falling on his skin. Almost, he could see her, picnic basket in hand, her long-sleeved lab coat hiding a few formaldehyde stains, not bruises.

He lay back in a pose he had not assumed in decades-- lacing his fingers behind his head, gold fingers between black, letting the petal-rain fall on him. He closed his eyes, and almost expected her to nudge him awake, the way she had in those long distant days when her smile was shy, but easy.

And Vincent Valentine closed his eyes, soot-black lashes pressed tight together . . . and smiled.

* * *

Aeris lay with her lover, panting, the sound of the long-dead priestess' chants still ringing in her ears. She knew now why this temple had been built.

It was for _them_.

For him and her and the gift that only the two of them together could give the Planet.

On this day, long after all the hymns had faded into silence, and all the prayers dissolved into the Lifestream, one son of Jenova-- the most lost and least likely to repent-- one had found his way home.


	60. Forgiveness

Disclaimer: All that is Square Enix intellectual property belongs to them.

* * *

Sephiroth stayed in her arms, resting in the little protective circle of her warmth. Her hands smoothed his hair-- a comfortable, loving pressure. The moss was cool, and the glittering cavern steamed as the thundershowers dissipated into a fresh, sweet-smelling afternoon.

"What happens now, Aeris?" he asked.

"Sssh. You worry too much."

"But there's no place in the world for us. And I can't live without you." He meant to state this as a fact, simple and blunt, but the words had a life of their own, and they came out laced with an unbidden, panicky edge. "No one will believe me. No will believe that we could-- be together."

"Vincent has. If he can, others can, too." She rubbed a few shimmering strands between her fingers, twisting a wisp around her pinky finger. A silver thread that bound heart to heart.

Sephiroth was not convinced.

"Vincent is unusual."

"I suppose he is."

"He's been a great help to you, hasn't he?"

_More than_ _I have._

"He has been a very good friend."

"I'll thank him when I see him next, then."

A smile crinkled the edges of her eyes-- he had known she would like that,-- but a quick shadow passed over her face and she looked away.

"What? What is it?" He tightened his arms around her, keeping her close.

"It's nothing," she gestured dismissively, accidentally tugging on the strand still wound round her finger. "There's something I've been wanting to do for him. Now isn't really the best time to talk about it, I think."

"Now I _have _to know. Tell me."

She sighed, her mouth twisting piquedly at how quickly his nameless fears overtook him.

"I-- want to find Lucrecia," she said, and his smile faded. "Not right away, I want to know you better first, but you and I are both so strong: we could heal her . . ."

When he pulled away, her voice trailed off.

"Sephiroth?" She laid a hand on his gloved one, which he had unconsciously balled into a fist on his thigh as the bitter coldness crept up his spine.

"You . . . know what you're asking?" It was not really a question. He kept his voice low, and met her wide, green gaze. The gentle, half-pleading pressure of her love was stronger than ever now.

"I know," she said.

"She's probably dead, Aeris. I don't see what else could keep her from him."

"Plenty could keep her from him. Fear. Guilt. The usual."

"Hmmf." Sephiroth retreated from her hand and her gaze.

"Even if she _is _dead, it doesn't make the point moot." She pressed closer to him. "Forgive her, Sephiroth."

"Aeris, she took _everything_ from me. My youth, my freedom, my _humanity_."

"Everything but your ability to choose how your suffering shapes you. Everything but your ability to forgive."

He studied a blue-white bud beside his knee.

She was asking the impossible of him, as so many had asked the impossible of him before. The difference was: she wanted _him_. Not world dominance, not genocidal conquest, _him_. All of him.

And that meant she wanted him to set aside the rage and despair that defined him-- to truly _become_ something else.

Something softer.

Something beautiful.

He thought of Lucrecia the way he remembered her: hollow-eyed, her lips scabbed from where she had bitten them, hair wound in a careless, sagging sash. A wave of contempt and impotent rage, bitter as bile, hit him so hard he gagged on his own sneer.

"Aeris, I _hate_ her," he snapped. He shifted to rise, but the hand holding his fist tightened quickly.

"And as long as you do, you'll be a _slave_ to that hatred. I know you think forgiveness will make you a victim, but it's the only way to _not _be a victim. Sephiroth, _this_ is the way out." A warm hand touched his jaw, turning his face to her. "I'm not asking you to make excuses for them, or to pretend that what happened doesn't matter. What they did to you was _evil_, but you can seek to restore what was lost-- you can choose to live without anger or hatred."

"But--"

_But _you _know what a mother's love is_.

The answering thought came softly: sunlight slanting through clouds, early morning mist on shining petals.

_And she knows what a mother's death is._

_And a father's._

_And a friend's._

Forgiveness was no mere idle word for her. _He _was proof of _that_.

For a moment, something like empathy welled up in him. He felt as if her heart beat in his chest, as if he could blink back the worried tears starting in her eyes. She had suffered too, but had made her peace with all that hurt her.

_That_ was the power in her greater than his own. That was what made her beauty so unique and so dazzling.

And-- wasn't this what being with her meant? To let her become a part of him, to let her give weight and definition to his stunted conscience? Hers would be the voice that called him back from the edge of insanity. Together, they could become something new.

Nothing like what Shinra wanted. Nothing at all like what Mother wanted.

Was it what _he_ wanted?

He noticed she was holding her breath, an anxious line tugging down the corner of her mouth.

_Little angel, how could I deny you anything you ask? There is _nothing _I would not do for you. _

He loosened the fist pressed against his thigh, softening beneath her touch, and he turned his hand palm-upward to close his fingers over hers.

"Aeris," he said, "It will be hard for me. But I'll try."

As he said the last word, he saw himself, clear and sharp as life, standing in a cave. A cave cooler and darker than the one he shared with Aeris, and so damp the air clung to his skin. Behind him, he heard the faint roar of a waterfall and, closer, water dripping on stone.

Lucrecia lay before him, encased in luminous crystal, arms folded across her breast. She was dressed all in flowing white, making her look like a ghostly bride.

He felt the cool press of crystal beneath his gloved fingertips, heard Masamune's handguard clank against the clear stone.

"So, Mother," that Sephiroth said softly, "at last we meet."

As Aeris came back into focus, he realized he had mouthed the words along with vision.

"Really? You'll really try?" she was saying.

"I will."

"Do you think you can love her?"

"I--" he hesitated, "could love _you_, my angel. And I could love anything that you ask me to, anything that remotely reminds me of you. Can that be enough?"

In answer, her face broke into a smile and she threw her arms around him. "It's a start," she said, then added in a whisper that barely stirred his hair, "A real start."

* * *

Aeris stayed in his arms for a long time, wrapped in his dark power, the cavern around them slightly obscured by a curtain of silver. His sharp, leathery scent mingled with the cool, clean smells of rain-washed earth and new beginnings. His wing was out now, draped over them like a blanket, and when the slight breeze ruffled his feathers, it only made her feel warmer, nestled cozily in is white arms and black down. He did not seem to want to stop touching her, running his fingers down her back, touching her face, her hands.

He also seemed utterly set against giving himself over to the vulnerability of sleep, which, she supposed, was only understandable.

"How do you feel?" she asked. He was a man unaccustomed to feeling anything, and he had just run through an emotional gamut that he probably found vaguely horrifying. "You must be exhausted."

The loose, one-armed embrace tightened, and her feather blanket tucked up under her chin.

"No," he said. "Well, yes, but there's something else. . ."

He looked away, across the room shining with sunset and ablaze with diamond dew, his eyes glowing brighter now in the failing light. "It's something I've never felt before. Something warm." He frowned uncertainly.

"Warm?"

"And solid. Sure." The wrinkles in his forehead cleared suddenly as in comprehension. "I feel . . . _safe_," he said, and her heart ached at the amazement in his voice.

She shifted, reaching up to cup his cheek, and he turned into her touch so that she felt his soft eyelashes on her palm.

"You _are _safe. All your power is yours alone now. You could cleanse the world of all Shinra has done to it; you could rebuild Wutai; you could can make your name mean what you want it to mean--"

"And you'll be with me?"

"Always and always. I belong with you. I have _always _belonged with you."

And she _did _belong with him. Nothing could change that. The strange Midgar slum girl belonged in the arms of the winged man who called her angel, sharing a deep love tinged with sorrow and strength. She pulled him down into an embrace, holding his lean, fierce body, caressing his frightened boy's soul, and he rested his face on her shoulder--and sighed.

It took a long time, but bit by bit, he relaxed.

* * *

Author's Note:

There is, of course, more to the story: Sephiroth's quest for normalcy, this strange couple's difficult adjustment to society, Vincent and his lost Lucrecia; but here is where our story ends, for here is the end of their beginning, and the beginning of their story. So the next chapter is the epilogue . . .and the last.

This story owes a debt to several works: Suzy McKee Charnas' "Beauty and the Opera," A.S. Byatt's _Possession _and Wally Lamb's _She's Come Undone _for help with the imagery. And Jean M. Auel's _The Valley of Horses_ for help with the smut.

But above all, thank you to my faithful reviewers. I want to name you all, but I'm afraid of leaving someone out. I think you can guess who you are. You made me feel like a "real" writer. If not for you, this fic _would _have been abandoned. Thank you.


	61. Epilogue

Disclaimer: FFVII belongs to Square Enix.

* * *

For the rest of their lives, they remembered the year that followed as the happiest and most carefree of their lives. They frolicked like children, tumbling together in the deep moss, and spent the days naked-- learning one another's bodies.

He liked to take her standing against one of the room's crystal pillars. She liked to pin him to the floor and ride him hard and fast. He called her his angel, his little love. She called him Sexyroth, and-- what was more amazing-- he let her. He taught her how to swing Masamune and how to develop a better stance with her guard. She taught him how to braid.

They put on lazy, happy weight.

He learned that she often bit her thumbnail when the Planet spoke to her -- a quirk born of habitual secrecy. She learned he had an oral fixation-- had, in fact, sucked his thumb until he was fourteen, although he somehow hid the habit from his trainers-- and she took eager advantage of his compulsion.

They were days brimming with laughter and play, of sleepy orgasms and waking with sticky thighs. Days of magic and healing and small, hard-won victories.

A silly joke that made him throw back his head and laugh until the cave walls rang.

A dinner he made out of army rations and a mako-ridden beast.

A ribbon of silver saved from the time he let her cut his hair.

A week that passed with no night terrors.

A month.

Little miracles.

* * *

Vincent and Nanaki found them after two weeks, stumbling on their hideaway more by happenstance than by design. Sephiroth was standing in the waterfall, showering, the water hissing off his shoulders and plastering his hair to his skull.

Aeris had her little jacket on, but nothing else, and when she saw them, she gave a little shriek and scrambled under Sephiroth's coat. The silver-haired man was between them in an instant, his hair flinging an arc of water behind him.

When he saw who it was, his stance eased, and he only stood blocking their view, looking vaguely pleased with himself.

Nanaki could not blush, but he swished his tail back and forth, and ducked his head as if he wanted to put his paws over his eyes. Even Vincent averted his blood-colored gaze, and cleared his throat before saying, "If you need us, we will be in Midgar."

Aeris poked her nose over the edge of Sephiroth's coat, and grinned.

* * *

There were other times, though, when Sephiroth came to her roughly. While he was never again as violent toward her as he was their first night, she could tell he was sometimes tempted to be. Afterward, he always seemed to need reassurance.

More irritatingly, as the months passed, he grew moody, often insulting, often inclined to castigate himself by pushing her away. Occasionally, exhausted by happiness, he picked stupid arguments. Then, if she responded with a nasty retort of her own, he would steal things from her and hide them in various unreachable parts of the cavern. He took useless things, for the most part-- a tin plate she had used to heat her dinner in, the white bauble her mother had left her, a broken piece of shoelace, but once he took both her boots and her Guard, and another time he cut off all the buttons on her jacket, then had the audacity to defend his action with, "But you never button the jacket up, anyway."

In short, he was infuriating. Still, she understood his actions better than he did, and she knew he was not trying to punish her, only trying to assuage his abject terror: a starving child squirreling away provisions against coming privation. More than that, he found himself in a new environment, and, perversely, he had to test the limits.

All this was over and above the patient work that Aeris spent undoing the training in his head. He rediscovered all his misdirected rage against Shinra, and the Forbidden Forest began to avoid him, glowing woods forming a wide circle around him, because he vented so much of his wrath against the trees. Eventually, he even notched the end of Masamune.

But, night after night, he found himself in her arms: accepted and blessed. And as the knowledge of her love crept into certainty, he found he had something to hope for each day, and something to be grateful for. And when he had learned hope and gratitude, love was an easy lesson.

Day by day, he began to change.

Then, after about a year, she saw him flinch slightly, and when she asked what was wrong he said only, "Mother sends her greetings." And Aeris knew that he had learned to distinguish Jenova's voice from his own.

"Seph?" she asked.

"What is it, angel-mine?"

'Angel-mine' was new this week, an instant favorite of his because it could be either laudatory or possessive.

"Do you think we're ready to rejoin the world?"

He turned to her, his glowing eyes warm, his expression so soft that it made her flush crimson and look away, her mouth tightened by a furtive smile.

"I think I should like that, Aeris Gainsborough. If you will go as my wife."

And when he held out his hand to her, two thin, silver rings lay in his palm. The larger, masculine one was set with an emerald, no doubt pried from the glittering walls around them. The smaller one held the tiniest, most brilliant bit of materia she had ever seen. She knew what kind it was before she touched it. Revive. He was saying, silently, that she had brought him back to life.

Two shades of green lay side by side in his outstretched hand, each the color of the other's eyes.

Through sudden tears she managed, "I _wondered_ what you did with that bit you knocked out of your sword."

His smile widened. "Wonder no more."

* * *

That night, Aeris dreamed.

In the middle of a vast, empty expanse, a little house stood, surrounded by lush blossoms. Two shadows approached-- one long, and one short-- stretching across the desert sand. The taller shadow belonged to Sephiroth, his hair twitching around him like a live thing, the shorter one to the little silver-headed girl waddling after him.

Aeris knew, with the certainty of dreams, that this girl would grow thin and straight and sharp as the sword she carried, for she was heir not to a vast corporation, nor a monarchy, but only to Masamune-- and all that that entailed. Hers would be a terrible beauty that men would go to war over-- or follow into battle.

But all of that lay far ahead. For now, she was the precocious girl with large emerald eyes, never far from her father's boots, tottering after his shortened strides with all the eagerness and enthusiasm of innocence. Often, he would carry her, not as other men carried their children, but perching her on his pauldroned shoulder, balancing her with one arm while she gripped a forelock for balance.

Aeris saw herself, then, inside the house, spoon-feeding a baby with glowing cat's eyes and her mother's chin. He seemed intent on levitating and spitting out as much of the mush she was feeding him as possible, and Aeris was keeping at him with the tired persistence of a woman who did not want to be woken up tonight. Pattering footsteps on the front stoop alerted her to her daughter's entrance, and a moment later a shrill voice rang out: "Mamma! Mamma! You should have been there, Mamma! This monster was _HUGE_! It was the biggest monster _ever_, Mamma! The villagers said it was a _demon_!"

Aeris sighed. He spoiled his children hopelessly. She alone knew how much he wanted--_needed_--his children to be happy. The little wretches leveraged that as much as possible, and Aeris could not always stop them from shamelessly using his love, nor could she be the mother she wanted to be. Since their first pregnancy, marked by the headstone in the back yard, she had never been truly strong. Conceiving, always difficult for the Cetra, had been triply complicated because of the Jenova cells still tainting Sephiroth's flesh, and the pregnancies were difficult, dangerous and painful, full of lurid visions of darkness and flame. He had worn the floorboards smooth with his pacing, hating himself for the pain that his love brought.

His silhouette filled the doorway and she looked up.

He was covered in mud and shadow creeper silt, and a bluish goop that she did not dare to name. "Agh!" she squawked. "Sephiroth Gainsborough! Leave that filthy thing outside, or you'll be washing it yourself!"

He grinned as he complied and went to wash up in the sink, obviously in high spirits after butchering the bane of some village or hillside.

Their daughter was still darting around, eyes aglow with hero worship. "Pappa _killed _it, Mamma! Like _this!_" She demonstrated a series of unsettlingly accurate sword movements. "Tifa and I helped!"

Aeris arched an eyebrow. Sephiroth was the only man on Gaia who could not only slaughter any mako-made monster single-handed, but who could invite his three-year-old to-- _help_. 'Tifa,' Aeris knew, was not Tifa Lockheart, but 'Tifareth,' the pet rat.

The three of them had undoubtedly been a very funny sight, and she shook her head and chuckled, actually a little sorry that she'd missed it. White arms snaked around her middle, clamping her tight to a broad, pale chest. "Laugh while you can, pretty flower girl." She heard his grin as he whispered into her hair. "I'll hear you _beg_ tonight."

He pulled away abruptly, leaving the familiar heat coiling in the pit of her belly, and a flush in her cheeks.

"Didn't you hear me, Mamma? Pappa killed a monster that was bigger than our whole house! Than infinity of our whole houses!" Her daughter gushed louder, seeking to correct her mother's inattention with volume. "Daddy's the greatest warrior ever, isn't he Mamma! There's not a demon in the world who can beat him! Aren't I right Mamma? Aren't I right?" She replayed the afternoon's battle with her imaginary sword once again.

Aeris watched her Sephiroth ruffle his son's hair, glowing eyes twinkling. He was older now. Common gray mingled with the strange moonlight silver, particularly at the temples. But his finest and most beautiful features, the crowning glory of all her years of patience and love, were the laugh lines crinkling the corners of his eyes. The wrinkles of a man who knew how to smile.

"You're perfectly right, sweetie," Aeris answered. "Not a demon in the world."

_Not even his own._

* * *

**(finis)**


End file.
